


The Case of the Missing Dragon Eggs

by Fourthlinewinger



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, M/M, There is no hockey here, romance as a subplot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-07-20 08:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16133267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fourthlinewinger/pseuds/Fourthlinewinger
Summary: When two college kids burst into the office begging for help, Marcus Johansson and Evgeny Kuznetsov didn't think it was going to be an easy case. They didn't expect it to be this hard, either. But with dragons, fairies, and witches involved, they'll be lucky to escape with their lives.





	The Case of the Missing Dragon Eggs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saltlicorice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltlicorice/gifts).



> Dear Em, 
> 
> You said you enjoy creative AUs, so I hope this one meets your standards! I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you at least have a little fun reading it :D
> 
> Happy All Caps Exchange!
> 
> Note: I used Google Translate for the Russian and Swedish bits so...I'm sorry in advance, and if anyone wants to laugh at me I probably deserve it <3

“The water company sent another bill,” Marcus said as soon as the front door opened. He’d been at work for twenty minutes, and had just managed to turn on the coffee and sort through yesterday’s mail before the clatter of someone struggling against the front door interrupted his routine. He didn’t look up from his desk; there was only one person who would be trying to get the latch free this early in the morning.

“Again? It hasn’t been a month!” Zhenya kicked the door shut behind him to make sure it closed. He stamped his feet on the industrial carpeting.

Marcus finally looked up from the stack of late notices. “It’s two weeks overdue,” he said dryly, as Zhenya hung his trench coat on the coat rack. His hideous fedora, slightly too big and bordering on shapeless, was placed on top of the coat.

Zhenya tugged his shirtsleeves straight. It didn’t do much to make his wrinkled button up and patched jeans look presentable. “Didn’t I give you—”

“You said something about a troll bridge,” Marcus reminded him, tapping the letters in his hand into a neat pile.

“Oh.” Zhenya frowned. “But what about—”

“You told me you would die if we didn’t fix the coffee machine.” Probably because Marcus would have killed him from caffeine withdrawal. It had still been Zhenya’s choice to get the machine fixed.

“But—” Zhenya started to protest, but:

“You got 30 stitches in your arm.” The stitches had cost less than a full healing, though the doctors hadn’t been happy about it.

“Huh,” Zhenya said, flexing the arm that still had an angry red line of scars. “Well, I guess we need a case.”

Marcus put away the letters and the image of Zhenya stopping a knife with his forearm. “Paid in advance, preferably. If the water goes off I’m not coming in. I refuse to take bathroom breaks across the street.”

“But Oshie is so nice!” Zhenya said, because he’d never met a conversational detour he’d disliked. Laughter was leaking through his voice, and while it was a foggy and cold outside, his eyes were full of warmth. He leaned against Marcus’ desk and the smile broke through the seam of his lips like sunlight through clouds

“He runs a strip club!” Marcus could feel the blush creeping up his neck and cheeks. It wasn’t that he had a problem with strip clubs, it was that Oshie had told him, quite sincerely, that his ass could make a lot of money if he was willing to get up on stage. Marcus wasn’t willing. Oshie had seemed to realize it was a sore point and backed off, but not before telling Marcus the offer was always open. He scowled down at his desk while Zhenya laughed at him. “Anyway, we have 48 hours and then the water shuts off. I imagine the power isn’t far behind.”

Zhenya nodded and pushed off the desk. “I better get to work, then!” He went past Marcus to the tiny office in the back, and then popped his head back out. “But your paycheck—”

“It went through fine,” Marcus interrupted, not wanting to talk about it. “Go do work or something.” He was even redder now, actual embarrassment flooding his face. Zhenya always made sure his paycheck went through. Sometimes, it was at the expense of the water bill. Sometimes, Marcus learned that Zhenya hadn’t bought groceries that week. Marcus didn’t like to think about it, or how grateful he was for it. His apartment was small and crappy, and Marcus mostly ate ramen and spaghettios, but he was always able to pay his rent.

Zhenya smiled brightly. “Yessir!” He ducked back into his office.

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his short hair. If they had to wait until Zhenya got another case to pay the water bill, water breaks at the strip club might be the least of their worries. It had been harder than usual to find clients these past couple weeks. Zhenya was a better investigator than any of the other PIs in town with their sleek websites and shiny business cards, but the story of Zhenya breaking his last contract was doing still the rounds. Even though Marcus had approved, even encouraged Zhenya to hand the incriminating photographs back to their client’s hollow-eyed step-daughter, it didn’t make looking at their bank account any easier. And if the man actually went through with his threat to sue….

He wouldn’t. If he did, everyone would find out about the things he had done to that hollow-eyed step-daughter, and he would be in more trouble than just his wife taking the kids back to Amsterdam.

Of course, things would also have been easier if Zhenya wasn’t paying a secretary he didn’t really need. Marcus should find another job, but every time he opened inDeed, his hands started to shake and he couldn’t breathe. He had twelve credit hours left on a poli-sci degree focusing on Human-Fae relations that would get him a job in any city in the world, and yet he was working for a guy who could barely feed himself. It wasn’t what he had expected when he moved across the ocean eight years ago.

Marcus set another reminder in his calendar for the overdue bills. He wrote up an ad for the local classifieds: _Kuznetsov & Assoc., Private Investigations. Private and Professional Consulting. Reasonable Rates._ He removed the line about _Private and Professional Consulting_ after the paper gave him their quote. He could hear Zhenya moving around his office through the thin walls, flipping through papers, clicking his mouse, making a short phone call where he didn’t say much but scribbled furiously. Marcus checked their email, their voicemail, and their P.O. Box. More invoices joined the water bill from Saturday. The magazines for things they didn’t need and postcards from politicians promising the world in exchange for a vote went straight in the trash.

There was one phone call, but the woman panicked before she could spit out why she was calling, and hung up on him.

He lost a couple games of solitaire, then won enough of minesweeper to grow sick of seeing the little squares and Xs, so he messed around on Instagram until Zhenya popped back out of his office around noon. Marcus looked up hopefully.

“I’m getting lunch! Do you want anything?” Zhenya asked, putting his hat back on. At one point, it had been black, but now the felt fedora was a faded grey that perched sadly on top of his head. Marcus was never sure if he wanted to laugh at the sight or throw the ugly thing in the nearest trash can.

He was sure he wanted to join Zhenya for lunch, but they had a rule: one of them had to be around in case a client walked in the door. It was Zhenya’s turn to escape the tiny confines of their office.

“Marcus?” Zhenya said, and Marcus tore his eyes from the hat. “I know, this hat is so good, but I really am going to lunch.”

“That hat is an abomination,” Marcus said automatically. “Where are you going?”

“McDonalds!” Zhenya beamed.

Marcus could swing the dollar menu. “Yeah, let me see how much I have.” He pulled out his wallet and thumbed through his receipts to try and find a dollar. 

“My treat,” Zhenya said, grabbing his trenchcoat.

“I’ve got it,” Marcus said, finding a couple dollars and holding them out. “Just a cheeseburger.”

Zhenya flattened his back against the door, avoiding Marcus’ offered cash. “No problem. I’ll be right back.”

“Zhenya!” Marcus yelled, as Zhenya shoved through door with a soft smile completely negated by his wink. “Asshole,” Marcus muttered, though he was smiling, as well. He put the money in an envelope and went inside Zhenya’s office to leave it on his desk.

Zhenya’s office was even tinier than the foyer, barely big enough for the desk and a chair on each side. It was usually immaculate, with everything in a drawer or a neat stack waiting for a drawer, but today it was a mess of papers and a scratch pad with little doodles on it. He really had been working all morning. Hopefully that meant a job or something was coming. Maybe Alex needed a new catnip supplier, or Osh wanted a background check.

Marcus flipped through the papers curiously before slumped down into Zhenya’s chair. It wasn’t anything new, or anything that would bring in money. The Semin file was spread across Zhenya’s desk, an old ghost that Zhenya couldn’t let lie. Zhenya couldn’t accept that Sasha Semin had just walked away, but if Sasha had wanted them to follow, he’d have left them an actual clue as to where he was going.

All they had was scattered on top of Zhenya’s desk, and it was all useless.

Marcus put the file back together. He’d done it so often he knew where each page went, the phone records and maps and credit card slips all had their own spot. The top page of the notepad was covered in scribbled Cyrillic and Roman letters. He ripped the page off and added it on top with a dated notation. The file went back in the safe under the floorboards beneath Zhenya’s chair.

Back at his own desk, Marcus checked to see if they had any new emails. There were none. He put his head in his hands and wondered how much longer they could do this.

* * *

Marcus had moved on to scrolling through Facebook by the time the noise of someone fighting the front door alerted him that Zhenya was back. He checked the time. Over an hour had passed, far longer than a lunch run to McDonalds should have taken. The pile of Tootsie Roll wrappers he had snacked on during his wait was threatening to avalanche his desk.

Zhenya finally beat the door and burst into the office with two stunned and slightly anxious-looking kids in his wake. His eyes were bright with triumph. At a glance, Marcus had the kids pegged as students from the University. They were clutching at each other nervously as they followed Zhenya inside, hesitant and clearly certain they were about to enter someplace thoroughly disreputable.

Marcus would have been insulted, but disreputable was probably accurate. They had a coat rack, a single chair, and Marcus’s desk all crammed into vestibule, perfectly arranged for banging shins and elbows. Nothing except the coffee pot had been washed recently. The dirt was caked so thickly onto the solitary windowpane that it was perpetually twilight, except when it was actually twilight, when it appeared to be two in the morning.

“Marcus, I found a case!” Zhenya said cheerfully, handing over a bag of food and gesturing with his free hand at the two. “Meet Devante Smith-Pelly and Chandler Stephenson. Chandler, Devante, this is Marcus Johansson.”

“Would you like some coffee?” Marcus asked while Zhenya yanked their coats off of them and hung them on the rack.

Chandler had a good beard but his eyes were wide as saucers, and his yellow hoodie had ketchup stains on the sleeves. Devante had one hand on the back of Chandler’s neck like he was prepared to shove him at the slightest hint of aggression. Marcus didn’t know if it would be as a distraction or to get him moving, though maybe he should give the kid in a human rights campaign hat more credit.

“Let’s go in my office,” Zhenya decided. He swept past Marcus, almost vibrating with the desire to get started.

Marcus wondered what Chandler and Devante needed that was so exciting. Probably not photographs of a cheating husband or a lost wedding ring, Zhenya wouldn’t have blinked at those. “Coffee?” he offered again.

“Oh, God, please,” Chandler said.

“Tea?” Devante asked hopefully.

“Not on your life,” Marcus informed him, opening the filing cabinet beneath his desk to get out a couple of mugs. The pot was half full with the coffee Marcus had made to survive the afternoon, and there was a small bowl of sugar and cream that he kept for clients. Chandler used three sugars. Devante poured enough creamer that he almost overflowed the cup.

“Come on, come on, we get started now!” Zhenya called, and the two scurried into his office.

Marcus grabbed the foyer chair. On cue, Zhenya popped out. “Ah, Marcus, can I— thank you.” He took the chair from Marcus and went back into his office, telling Chandler he didn’t have to stand, while the loud screech of trying to fit another chair in front of his desk rang like a siren.

Marcus smiled at the empty room, cheered by the thought of a case, and also by Zhenya’s thankful grin. He sat down and opened up a new case file on his desktop. He noted the names and the date, and then listened for more information to float through the wall. Zhenya was almost certainly taking notes, as well, but he liked it when Marcus gave him his own opinions.

“So, you think you can really find them?” Chandler asked, sounding younger than his beard implied.

“Of course,” Zhenya brushed off the question. “First, though, start at the beginning.”

“Again?” Devante must had been frowning, his voice was thick with it.

“Well, now I have pen and paper and can write it down,” Zhenya said. “So, you work at university.”

“Right,” Chandler picked up the narrative. “We’re students of Dr. Orpik. Do you know him? He’s the only human dragon obstetrician in the world, he’s written, like, six books and a ton of papers and there were fifty people who applied for this internship with him. He’s a really big deal.”

Dragon obstetrician? There was a Draconology center at the university, but this was the first time Marcus had heard of there being obstetricians. Was it a hospital? Was it part of the medical complex?

One of Marcus’ last remaining credit hours had been on dragon culture. He suddenly wished he’d at least gotten the syllabus before he’d left town. 

“Alright,” Zhenya said, even and relaxed. “So what happened?”

“We’ve been working his lab with the late-stage gestation patients,” Chander said miserably. “He finally said that we were competent enough to help keep watch over the eggs without a staff member hovering over our shoulder.”

“There were still doctors around!” Devante said hastily. “We would just, you know, measure them and take their temperature and keep track of them when their moms have to leave the nest.”

What did a dragon obstetrician even do? It wasn’t like dragons gave birth. Eggs hatched when they were ready. Did dragons get sick the way people did, or were they like their fairy allies, and only brought down by poison or blade?

“I only left for a moment! Like a minute!” Chandler said.

Wait. Marcus should probably be paying attention to this part. It sounded—

“I was on my way out, I was on my way to the library,” Devante added.

“And when I got back to my station they were gone!” Chandler finished.

—bad.

“No one has any idea what happened, it’s like they vanished!”

That was Devante, Marcus noted, feeling detached and a little shocky. He typed, _MISSING: DRAGON EGGS,_ and then bolded and underlined it for good measure. He stared at the words for too long, missing some of the conversation, but— fuck.

If this got out, it would be a scandal that might be big enough to, to— Marcus didn’t even know. Close the university? Set relations back between dragons and humans? It wouldn’t lead to war, no one wanted another war. Right?

“How many?” Zhenya asked reasonably. He sounded normal, not like he was about to panic. Maybe he didn’t realize how bad this could be.

“Three,” Devante said, after it became clear Chandler was too upset to continue. 

Marcus added _3._ He put his head in his hands and tried to focus, because this was way bigger than anything they had done before. This wasn’t a cheating husband or a missing will. This might not just affect the city, but the country as a whole.

Maybe they should stay out of it.

“And the mama hasn’t moved them? Does she know they are missing?” Zhenya scratched something down on his notepad, and then his keyboard clicked.

“No,” Devante said. “Not yet. She’s not supposed to be back for a while. She’s okay. For now.”

“But Dr. Orpik told us to not come back unless we have the eggs,” Chandler said. “So. Can you help us?”

Marcus’ computer pinged as it received an IM. Dread curling in his stomach, Marcus checked to see what it said.

 _Dragon eggs!!!_ Zhenya had sent.

Marcus slowly typed, _i heard._

“Of course I can help,” Zhenya said. “That is why you are here. Who else has access to the eggs?”

There was a long pause before Chandler said, “Well, us, Dr. Orpik, the two other interns…”

“Anyone who has access to the center,” Devante said. “Maybe Dr. Orpik would have a list?”

“Alright then!” Zhenya said. There was a thump, and Marcus could imagine him banging his chair into the wall when he stood up, too impatient to be careful in the tiny space. “Let me get a contract and go over what I’ll do and what the fees are—”

“I’ll pay whatever,” Chandler said. “Just find them.”

There was another long pause.

“You don’t understand,” Devante said, quiet but intense. “It’s not just the academics or the politics or what will happen the university. This could ruin our future, that’s one thing. But we’ve been watching over those eggs for months now. If they’re killed or ruined or never meet their mom because we didn’t do everything we could, I don’t know if I could forgive myself.”

“They’re babies,” Chandler said softly.

“Alright then,” Zhenya said after a moment. “We still need a contract, but Marcus can drive. I’ll explain in the car.”

* * *

“This is a bad idea,” Marcus hissed to Zhenya as they followed Chandler and Devante toward the School of Draconology. It was set on the edge of the University campus, a two story red brick building with arching windows. The dense fog that had settled over the city last night blurred the edges and softened the sharp angles of the roof.

The flagpole in front of the building disappeared into the gloom, but every now and then the mists would shift, and Marcus would think he caught a glimpse of the green and gold of the Dragon flag, whipping in the wind alongside the American stars. It was a bold statement, to fly both flags. Marcus supposed it made a certain amount of sense, if dragon mothers came here to have their children.

“What’s a bad idea?” Zhenya replied. He pushed his hat back on his head so he could see better as he took in the parking lot and building.

“This job,” Marcus muttered. “If it goes wrong—”

“It won’t go wrong,” Zhenya said confidently. “Also, why are you complaining? Now we have the money to pay the water bill!”

That was true. Marcus had stopped at the bank to deposit the retainer Chandler had written them in the car. Provided the check didn’t bounce, they were good for at least a couple weeks. Still, Marcus wasn’t sure money was worth the potential shitstorm.

“Zhenya,” Marcus pushed.

Zhenya grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “It’ll be fine,” he promised. “Do you want to head back to the office? I can call you when I’m ready for a pick-up.”

“No!” Marcus said quickly. He realized he was holding too tightly to Zhenya’s hand, and, with an effort, let it go. “Just. Be careful. Please?”

“Always.” Zhenya smiled at him. They both jogged to catch up with Chandler and Devante.

The outside of the building looked like any school Marcus had been in before, but when they got inside— Chandler held the door for them while Devante talked with the security guard— it looked more like a hospital or laboratory, albeit a very high security one. There was the guard by the doors, an expansive set of metal detectors, more guards chatting with the admins at the reception desk, and all the windows were reinforced.

Cameras covered the entire foyer, not just the entrance. Whoever had designed the place had done their best to hide them between the plants and soothing cream-and-mint paint job, but it was like walking into a fish bowl. Marcus’ nose immediately started itching.

It was a lot, even for an interspecies complex.

The halls were uncomfortably chilly, like the school still hadn’t switched from air conditioning to central heating. Marcus huddled into his coat and half-heartedly wished that he could steal Zhenya’s hat to keep his ears warm. It was as cold inside the building as it had been walking through the parking lot. It didn’t help to know they wouldn’t be inside for long: this building wasn’t nearly big enough to fit actual dragons, and there had to be a reason it was right up against a city park.

He was right. Once Devante and Chandler and finished their conversations, they were led through the halls toward the side of the building that flanked the park. “So Dr. Orpik is in the center right now,” Devante said, taking the corner at a clip. “We need to hurry up and take a look at where is happened before he knows we’re here.”

“Can we get copies of the security tapes from this morning?” Zhenya asked, jogging to keep up.

“Uh, I think so?” Chandler said, frowning. “I can ask.”

“Can we speak to Dr. Orpik?” Zhenya pressed.

“No!” Devante said, staring back over his shoulder at them. “Weren’t you listening?”

Zhenya sighed. “It’s important to speak to anyone who might be involved.”

Chandler looked horrified. “Dr. Orpik isn’t involved!”

Zhenya made a soft sound of acknowledgement. Marcus tilted his head in question, and Zhenya shrugged. He didn’t have any information to the contrary, but he wasn’t going to rule it out.

Marcus didn’t usually tag along on Zhenya’s cases, so he didn’t know how usual it was for the client to try and keep him from seeing or talking to their boss. Zhenya seemed to have taken it in stride, but they didn’t have any privacy for Marcus to ask if it was a mask.

When they rounded the next corner, there was a second guard station and a wall of windows that overlooked the park. At least, it should have been the park. It was green and there were trees and walking paths, but it wasn’t any park that Marcus had been to in the city. There was a silver, misty lake surrounded by cave mouths that gaped open like something out of Disney’s _Aladdin_. The vista seemed to go one for kilometers, sprawling out well past where civilization had already paved over the lands.

Marcus couldn’t help himself, he walked over to the gates and lost track of Devante and Chandler entirely. Through the glass, the gray fog didn’t quite manage to obscure the rainbow network of wardlight that arced through the sky. Marcus felt foolish for thinking anything but magic had made it all possible. He couldn’t see any dragons, but the weather was terrible. Those 20 meters wide cave mouths had to be there for a purpose, and dragon-hospital-rooms seemed a reasonable enough assumption.

He was curious as to how anyone that huge could have a human for an obstetrician.

“You like?” Zhenya asked, standing shoulder to shoulder with Marcus.

Marcus shook his head in wonder. “I didn’t know we had this kind of magic left,” he admitted. “I thought the fairies had taken them all.”

“Taken them?” Zhenya asked. “We’ve had magic forever. Where would it go?”

Marcus nodded. “The smaller magics, yeah, but I mean this.” He gestured at the world of lake and forest out the window. “Most of the old magics, the oak groves, the entrances to Underhill, even the ritual sites for priests and druids, all of those vanished when the war started 20 years ago. I guess it makes sense that they returned now that it’s over, but….” he drifted off, staring at the huge swath of magic out the window.

“It’s just after two, so most of the patients will still be napping,” Devante said, startling Marcus as he came up behind him.

Marcus blinked, shaking himself out of his reverie, and looked back over his shoulder. “Patients?”

“Dragon patients.” Devante rolled his eyes. “Just think of them as really big, really scary people, and try not to imply that you think anything else.”

“Got it,” Marcus said, chastened.

“Here, put this on.” Chandler said, stepping out of the doorway of what appeared to be a small storage room with his arms full of some kind of padding. He started passing the padding to Zhenya and Marcus.

“Is this armor?” Zhenya asked delightedly.

“They’re still dragons,” Devante said. “Of course it’s armor.”

After a long moment of trying to figure out how to loop the pads around him, Marcus began strapping the armor on as best he could. “How dangerous is it to go outside?”

Chandler and Devante were pulling on their own armor with fast and dexterous hands. Clearly, this was part of their normal routine, and as soon as they finished they started helping Zhenya and Marcus.

“They’re dragons,” Devante repeated dryly.

“We really have to hurry.” Chandler interrupted before Marcus could ask exactly what that meant— death, maiming, minor burns?— and yanked the last few straps of Marcus’ armor tight. “Come on!”

Marcus tried to protest, but he wasn’t used to the bulk and weight of the heavy padding strapped to his arms and legs and torso, and he ended up stumbling outside after their clients. In the few minutes since he’d been paying attention, the fog had grown thicker, and the mist clung to his lashes and goatee. The rainbow wardlights had vanished into the clouds, and it felt like the entire world was separated from him, like Marcus was standing alone and unmoored. He looked around for Zhenya.

Zhenya a short distance away, wild eyed and anxious as he looked around. When he caught Marcus looking at him, he took Marcus’ hand and held it tightly.

“It’s colder, here.” Marcus said, feeling a little less lost. He squeezed Zhenya’s hand back.

“At least the rain is holding off,” Zhenya said ruefully. “Where do we go?” 

They found Chandler and Devante behind them, looking around worriedly. 

“Uh, this way,” Devante said, pointing out into the fog. He grimaced and started walking. The rest of them followed.

“This fog is unusual, then?” Zhenya asked, his voice light enough that, if you didn’t know him, you might not hear tension.

“No,” Chandler said. “The weather can get weird, here, but usually it’s nicer. Some of the dragons can,” he paused, and Marcus and Zhenya both turned to study him. He didn’t look scared, but he was definitely unnerved.

“Dragons can what?” Marcus prompted when the pause dragged on and on.

“They’re magic.” Devante picked up the conversation for Chandler. “The weather pays attention. Most of the time, dragons are happy here, there are dragonlings around.”

Marcus looked at the threatening clouds as the wind ran chilly fingers along the back of his neck. “And usually that makes it sunny and warm?” He could see a wall of dark clouds coming on fast. It wasn’t just foggy and damp, it was going to storm.

“Yeah,” Chandler said.

“Mama knows about her missing eggs.” Zhenya tugged their joined hands to bring Marcus close, and craned his neck to study the sky.

Marcus opened his mouth to ask is they should still be out here, then, but a bone breaking roar cut him off. It rolled through him like thunder, quaking the ground and sending him reeling into Zhenya. Zhenya caught him as they cowered back from sound and fury, and was the only thing that kept Marcus from falling to his knees in the face of an impossibly, terrifyingly, furiously bellowing dragon roaring down on them.

“ **You!** ” The dragon fell on their group, sending the four of them scrambling away from her talons and snapping teeth. Her huge yellow eyes were bright as molten rock, and her fangs were as long at Marcus stood tall. Marcus was suddenly, viscerally aware that the padding he was wearing would do nothing against her teeth.

“Ethuria!”

Marcus was unable to look away from the dragon to see who had spoken. He wanted to run, wished his knees would stop shaking so he could flee. Zhenya pushed his way in front of him, a flimsy barricade and misplaced gesture, in the face of all those teeth. All Marcus could do was hold on to Zhenya’s hand and pray no one would do anything stupid. At least the dragon wasn’t looking at them.

“ **You!** ” The dragon repeated, staring down at Devante and Chandler. Neither of them had run, either. Marcus mentally downgraded his mental estimate of their intelligence. If that fury had been directed at him, he’d have been halfway back to the car. “ **You lost my children!** ”

“I know—”

The dragon didn’t let Chandler finish; she threw her head back and shrieked, and the world shrieked with her. Marcus slapped his free hand over Zhenya’s mouth automatically, muffling whatever words Zhenya was going to say to try and interrupt, but it didn’t matter, because nothing could be heard over the sound of a mother’s rage. The dragon swung her giant head back down when she was done, sucking in a deep breath that swelled her massive sides. A crackle of heat started somewhere deep within her.

Holy shit. Marcus started to pivot, suddenly certain he could run, suddenly certain that not running was going to get him killed. He grabbed Zhenya’s coat to try and drag Zhenya out with him.

“Ethuria?” Zhenya called, at the same time an older man’s voice said: “Ethuria! Stop!”

Ethuria stopped. Chandler and Devante went limp with relief as she swiveled her head around to glare at something hidden from view. Zhenya fought against Marcus until they were not longer backing away

“Ethuria?” Zhenya called again. “Is that you name?”

Devante drew his hand across his neck to tell Zhenya to cut it out. Zhenya ignored him, slipping out of Marcus’ grasp to take a few steps closer to the dragon. Marcus bit back on the words to call him back, heart in his throat. He could only hope that Zhenya’s good luck and easy charm worked on dragons, too.

“Yes,” Ethuria the dragon hissed, staring down at Zhenya. She flexed her black wings, muscles rippling underneath scale as they flared out and then settled against her back. “Did you take my eggs? Are you here so I eat you instead of these useless, scaleless, untrustworthy—”

“No, of course not,” Zhenya said, not as thoughtless as his flippant interruption would presume. His shoulders were straight lines of tension and his knuckles peaked out white from his sleeves.

“Mother of God,” Devante prayed.

A fifth man, just now visible around the curve of scale and claw, looked like he wanted to kill all of them, but he didn’t say anything and let Zhenya finish. He was wearing better fitting armor than any of them and had a tablet computer shoved in the pocket of green raincoat.

“I’m here to get them back,” Zhenya announced. “Evgeny Kuznetsov. Private detective.”

Giant golden dragon eyes blinked.

The man sighed, stepping into the middle of all of them. “I told you two to leave,” he said to Devante and Chandler.

“Dr. Orpik!” Devant blurted out.

“We just, we need,” Chandler stuttered, gesturing at Zhenya.

“What do you mean, you can get them back?” Ethuria said, ignoring Orpik and the students entirely to examine Zhenya. Her yellow gave flickered over Marcus, as well.

Zhenya straightened his hat. “I find things. I’ll find your eggs. You just have to let me help you.”

Ethuria said, “Brooks?”

Dr. Orpik looked at all of them, sighed heavily, and shook his head. “I have no idea what’s going on. Let’s go somewhere we can all sit down and discuss this.” He spun around and, without checking to see if any of them were following, started into the gloom. Ethuria snapped her teeth once at them and bounded after.

Chandler slumped.

“Fuck,” Devante said, bent over with his hands on his knees. “Fuck. Okay. Come on, we really don’t want to keep them waiting.” 

The six of them moved deeper into the fog, until they came up a small garden. There was a stone table with chairs on three sides, surrounded by stone columns, pitted with age. Surrounding everything were rings of bright flowers that glowed in the dimness and were completely out of season. Marcus could almost feel the magic emanating from them.

The damp clung to everything, but Marcus wasn’t going to complain, not with Ethuria crouching down on the fourth side of the table, imposing and only slightly less enraged as she rested her chin on her front talons. She was a black shadow in the mist. Her yellow eyes remained fixed on Chandler and Devante even when she spoke to Zhenya or Dr. Orpik.

Dr. Orpik had taken the seat at the head of the table, and gestured silently for the two students to sit opposite Ethuria. Marcus was glad one of them was a respected dragon expert, because it seemed like dangling prey before a hungry wolf, but he sat with Zhenya at the foot of the table without comment. Zhenya barely waited until they were all settled on the slick stone benches to start talking.

“I will need access to the school security station and a list of everyone who was on the egg-watching schedule and a list of everyone who had access to the egg watching schedule and also to see the nest,” Zhenya said in a single breath, counting off each request on his fingers.

“We haven’t discussed terms.” Ethuria’s tail thrashed. Marcus had no idea what that meant in dragon-body-language, but she was still staring down Devante and Chandler.

Dr. Orpik cut in. “The university has a firm we retain for problems of this nature. I appreciate your dedication to fixing this,” here he joined Ethuria in glaring at the two students, “but you can’t just bring in a couple yahoos off the street.”

“We didn’t just pick the first detective that came up on Yelp,” Chandler frowned.

Marcus wasn’t aware they had Yelp reviews. He made a note to start checking on their social media presence more frequently.

“I’m not a yahoo,” Zhenya said.

Marcus kicked him. Zhenya kicked him back.

“Why didn’t you go to the police?” Marcus asked pointedly. He knew the answer, but it was best to get all the cards on the table. Making sure everyone was on the same page would hopefully let Zhenya get to work, and keep the angry dragon from eating their clients.

Dr. Orpik went a little pale. “I’d rather not bring in the officials if we don’t have to,” he said, eying Ethuria. Bringing in officials would bring in the State department, and the Dragon Council, and possibly even the Fairy Courts. It would get messy, fast.

Ethuria snarled. “My eggs deserve better than to be pawns in Fairy politics. Can you really find them?” she demanded.

“Yes,” Zhenya said. To Dr. Orpik, he said, “And since you want to do this discreetly and quick, you want me to take the case, not your official university-retained law firm.”

Dr. Orpik pursed his lips. He had stress lines around his eyes, and shadows underneath. It looked like he had bitten his lips bloody from worrying them. 

“Brooks,” Ethuria urged.

Zhenya leaned forward on his elbows, intent and beseeching. “We’re already here. We can find the eggs. We will bring the babies home.”

Dr. Orpik looked down at the table.

Marcus stood up. “You don’t need to convince them anymore,” he said, rolling his shoulders to stretch his back. His wet jeans were sticking to his ass and thighs. “If they had any better ideas they’d already be doing them.”

Zhenya blinked. Dr. Orpik slumped. Ethuria’s tail lashed again.

“Alright!” Zhenya said, clapping his hands and bringing everyone’s attention back to him. “Let us go see the nest.”

* * *

Ethuria flew Dr. Orpik, Zhenya, and Marcus to her nest. They left Chandler and Devante behind so they could start putting together the information Zhenya had requested, including getting copies of the security tapes, and also because Ethuria refused to allow them anywhere near her remaining clutch. They didn’t seem to mind.

“Not all of them were stolen?” Zhenya asked as the three of them climbed onto Ethuria’s back. She was wearing a pretty and extremely functional necklace that they could secure themselves to. Marcus double checked and tightened Zhenya’s knots just in case Zhenya was too distracted by the case to care about something as trivial as death by falling.

“Just three,” Ethuria said, beat her wings twice, and then they were gliding up and over the caverns and pond. It was a brief flight, just barely worth the twenty minute walk it saved them. As they flew, Zhenya continued to question Ethuria and Dr. Orpik about the eggs, but Marcus was breathless from the misty, dreamy landscape beneath them, and couldn’t focus on their words.

Too soon they were landing inside the cave, and it was like a lightswitch flipped in a room at midnight: suddenly it was dry, even cozy, with soft red light all around them. They landed on softer sand and Ethuria walked deeper in. As they continued, Marcus felt as though he had opened his eyes underwater, with the world skewing slightly different. He craned his neck to look around at the smooth, matte walls and rosy glow. The cave was much bigger than the outside, even the twenty-meter entrances, would have suggested.

Marcus looked back at Zhenya to ask his opinion and found Zhenya grinning down at him, for once not caught up in the mystery. 

“I,” the words fell out of Marcus’ mouth as Zhenya continued to stare. “What?”

“You like to fly,” Zhenya said, reaching up and touching the corners of Marcus’ mouth.

Marcus realized he was grinning only when Zhenya traced the smile on his face. “I used to love the flight to and from Malmö.” The flush was hot on his face, or the cave was unbearably warm. He hadn’t been on a plane since… since before he’d left school. He’d forgotten how wonderful it was to see the world like a bird, or a dragon.

Zhenya’s hands were cool as they cradled Marcus’ cheeks. “It’s good to know.”

“Zhenya,” Marcus said, and licked his lips. He looked into Zhenya’s pale eyes.

“We’re here,” Dr. Oprik said, as Ethuria came to a halt. He slid down her side, and Marcus pulled away from Zhenya to look around.

The tunnel went on for some distance before curving out of sight, but they were standing in front of a huge archway. Incongruously, there was a brushed steel number over the door, and it took a moment before Marcus realized it was a room number. Ethuria was waiting impatiently for something; Marcus took the hint and untied himself so he could climb down to the ground. Zhenya, looking a little bit rueful, was a second behind.

“Ethuria’s nest is inside this room,” Dr. Orpik said. He had walked all the way around the dragon to stand with Marcus and Zhenya while they climbed down. He pulled out a couple pairs of rubber gloves and handed each of them a set. “Braden and Philipp should be there, as long as they didn’t wander off and let the rest of them get stolen.” He immediately winced, as though he regretted saying it in front of Ethuria.

Ethuria growled, shaking the ground beneath their feet. “That is why Cariddha is there, as well.” She stalked through the archway. The three of them sprang after her.

If the front part of the cave was a steep tunnel, Ethuria’s nest was a cheerful cavern, the ground even underfoot and the walls painted and decorated with this tapestries. There was a deeply rounded space at the center, and small, fast-moving stream curved around the edge for a short distance. Brightly colored boxes and a set of blocks as big as Marcus’ forearm were neatly stacked in one corner.

In the center of rounded space were the eggs. They lay on a pad with raised edges painted like a forest fire. A green dragon’s tail was half-curled around the eggs, and two men were sitting beside them in in plastic chairs. One man, a well-trimmed beard on his face, was strumming a guitar and humming. The second was singing along.

The song was _Wonderwall_.

It was almost surreal enough to distract Marcus from the meter tall eggs. Almost. The eggs were huge, bright red, and covered in a fine spiderweb of cracks. Ethuria saw the cracks and dove forward, and the other dragon barely had time to grab up the two men and the guitar so they weren’t crushed before Ethuria twined protectively around the eggs. The chairs were a complete loss.

“They’re hatching!” Ethuria wailed. “This is terrible!”

“Do calm down, dear,” the second dragon, presumably Cariddha, said mildly, setting her charges down by the their group. “It’ll be days before the hatching is done. We still have time. Hello, Brooks. Are these more of your students?”

Dr. Orpik was checking over his surprised students and trying to keep an eye on the eggs. “No, they’re here for the eggs,” he said, so distracted he nearly sent the guitar flying.

“For what?” Cariddha gave the impression that she was adjusting a set of spectacles as she stared from Dr. Orpik to Zhenya and back.

“The eggs,” Dr. Orpik repeated. “The missing eggs.”

“Oh.” Cariddha settled against the walls, losing interest. “Eggs go missing, sometimes.” She curled up against the wall and closed her eyes. “Ethuria might even be grateful she only has to deal with five of them.”

Given the way Ethuria was wailing, Marcus doubted it. “How often do eggs go missing?”

Zhenya winked at him and went over to Ethuria and her remaining eggs to start coaxing her into letting him close enough to investigate. Marcus wrinkled his nose— he was not an investigator, this was Zhenya’s job— but he turned back to Cariddha and the doctor and tried to think of helpful questions to ask.

“We’ve never lost an egg before,” Dr. Orpik said dryly. “Are you boys okay?” That must have been directed at the students.

The dark haired student ran a hand through his hair. “We are fine,” he said, a light German accent coloring his soft words.

“I’ll need new guitar strings,” the second student said diffidently. “Now that Ethuria’s back, I don’t think I’ll need the guitar, though.”

From behind them, a soft melody, a cat’s purr loud enough to vibrate the sand beneath them, sang through the cave. Marcus checked on Zhenya, found him kneeling on Ethuria’s back talon to get a close look at the eggs. Her eyes were sharp and watchful, but she wasn’t snapping her teeth at him. That was probably good.

“Is she singing?” Marcus hazarded.

The dark haired man nodded. “Expectant mothers sing to coax the dragonlings out of their shells,” he explained, and glanced at Dr. Orpik.

Dr. Orpik said, “Phil, Braden, this is,” here he paused, looking faintly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Marcus Johansson,” Marcus said, extending his hand.

“Philipp Grubauer,” the dark haired man said, shaking his hand.

“Braden Holtby,” the man with the guitar introduced himself. “Not that it isn’t a pleasure to meet you, but this isn’t really a great time.” He looked questioningly at Dr. Orpik.

Dr. Orpik looked pained. “Devo and Chandler hired them to find the missing eggs.”

“Oh!” Philipp smiled brightly. “That’s good, then. The university isn’t the most efficient with this sort of thing.”

"Zhenya will find them,” Marcus assured. “Um. Is he going to find eggs or actual dragons?”

Braden laughed a little, a stressed sort of laugh he bit off at the end. “Eggs.”

“Probably,” Philipp said.

“This is her first clutch, and they have no mother to sing them out of the shell,” Dr. Orpik said.

“No one wants a dragonling.” Cariddha cracked one eye open to watch them. “They grow too fast and aren’t very useful. They aren’t even cute until their scales and fangs come in.” She grinned, showing her own fangs, but it turned into a yawn and was much less threatening. “Whoever took them wants the eggs, so they should hope they don’t hatch too quickly.”

Marcus wasn’t so sure that no one would want dragonlings. People usually were worse than anyone thought they were. It was good to know they would still be looking for eggs, though. “How long do they normally take to hatch?”

“These two will probably take a couple days,” Dr. Orpik said thoughtfully. “The three that are missing probably haven’t even started to spiderweb yet. A week? Maybe two.”

Marcus nodded. “So why would someone take dragon eggs?”

Braden, Philipp, and Dr. Orpik all shot quick, alarmed looks at Ethuria.

“Could be a lot of reasons,” Dr. Orpik said quietly. “Status. They can sell for quite a lot on the black market. And there’s always black magic. Dragons and fairies have powerful magic.”

Oh, Marcus thought, glancing back at Ethuria and Zhenya like the rest of them. Zhenya was stroking a hand down one of the eggs, head turned away from them and his hat tipped back so far it was almost falling off his head. He felt a prickle down his neck as he suddenly grew aware of all the magic around them, spells like dandelion fluff on his skin. They didn’t seem like human spells, not like in Alex’s shop downtown, or even the school of magic from his university days, where the student-mages would make up spells in the common areas and anyone trying to cut through to get to their next class was putting limb and hair color in peril.

It must have taken a lot of magic to get into this cave. Whoever had taken the eggs had power in spades.

Fuck you, Sasha, Marcus thought, because Sasha Semin would have been able to give them some ideas about what kind of power would be needed to break into a dragon hospital. Out loud, he said, “Has anyone new been through here lately? Anyone who won’t be on Devante and Chandler’s lists?”

The answer was no, however obliquely Marcus asked the question. After another hour of questions and waiting for Zhenya to stop crawling all over the slowly cracking eggs, Zhenya and Marcus collected the security tapes and suspect lists and headed back to their car. They left Chandler and Devante, heads hanging, standing in front of Dr. Orpik while he discussed their future with his program.

“They do not have to worry,” Zhenya said, sliding into the passenger seat. He was smiling a smug, secret smile. “We got this.” He drew his hand out of his pocket and showed Marcus what looked like a curving piece of red china, about the size of his palm, with an opalescent shimmer in the light.

Marcus dropped the keys. “Do they know you have that?” he hissed, scrambling beneath the gas pedal to find his keychain.

Zhenya tucked the egg shard back in his pocket. “Ethuria gave it to me,” he said. “So we know what to look for.”

Keys once again in hand, Marcus gave Zhenya a sidelong look. “You want to bring Alex in on this.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a bad idea. They had been going to Alex a lot more often, since Sasha had left.

“We will need magic,” Zhenya said practically, slouching in his seat.

“Alex will charge us,” Marcus pointed out.

Zhenya grinned. “Maybe you talk to Nicky first, then. Get him to give us a good deal.”

Before Marcus could inform Zhenya that Nicke had never talked Alex out of anything in his life, there was a knocking at Zhenya’s window. They both jumped, and looked to see Philipp standing there, still in his padded armor. He was frowning.

Zhenya rolled down the window. “Yes?”

Philipp hesitated. “I don’t want to get him in trouble,” he said after a moment.

Zhenya straightened. “Who would be in trouble?”

Philipp frowner harder. “Vítek’s a good kid. And I really don’t think he has anything to do with this, he’s been sick for months, now.”

Marcus did his best to keep his face blank.

“Sick?” Zhenya asked.

“He was sleeping through his classes, missing assignments. They ended up cutting him from the hockey team.” Philipp took a deep breath. “Three weeks ago he stopped coming to class entirely. He’s going back to Czechia at the end of the week because—” Philipp abruptly swallowed. “He’s a good kid,” he repeated, softer. Then he held out a security pass. On it was the smiling face of a college kid, a little cocky, a little wide-eyed. 

Zhenya took the pass. “When did you find this?”

“This morning.” Philipp admitted. “It can’t be Vítek, he can barely walk.”

“He’s not the only one who could use this,” Zhenya pointed out, slipping the card into his sleeve. “I’ll find the eggs, Mr. Grubauer.”

Philipp shook his head, went to say something, then closed his mouth. He shook hands with Zhenya and ran back to the school.

Marcus whistled. “Well,” he said.

Zhenya flipped the card out again. “No one was on the security footage,” he said thoughtfully. “And you’d think someone would have noticed if this pass code was used again after so long.”

The engine to the old car started slowly, but it started. Marcus twisted so he could back out of the parking spot. “Maybe we should talk to Alex,” he said, and got onto the highway that would take them deeper into the city and toward Alex’s magic shop.

* * *

When Marcus first left school and followed Zhenya across the the country, he had a job but nowhere to live. Zhenya and Sasha Semin had offered their sofa, and Zhenya had even suggested he could take the couch so Marcus could have his bed, but it had been too much, too soon. Finally, Sasha had dragged him to Alex’s magic shop to meet Nicke and Alex. Marcus ended up spending the next year staying in the small apartment above their shop in exchange for….

Not much, actually. Speaking Swedish with Nicke. Keeping Alex company while he brewed. He’d covered the register at the store while Alex made coffee runs, sometimes, but the shop kept odd hours, so he hadn’t helped as much as he should have. He’d moved in to his own place about a year ago, and sometimes he still missed the coziness of knowing Alex or Nicke would be stopping in with dinner.

The store itself was in an alley off the main shopping district, somehow both seedy and beguiling, and never once, in all the times Marcus lived there, had the ‘closed’ sign been flipped to ‘open.’ Marcus stuffed his hands in his pockets and waited longsufferingly while Zhenya pounded on the door once, two times, three times.

Lightening brightened the alley for a moment before it collapsed into shadow and thunder. The storm that had been threatening all day would break, soon. Zhenya pounded on the door again.

“Саша! Саша, впусти нас!!” Zhenya called between thumps of his fist. Marcus eyed the heavy clouds overhead and wished he’d had the forethought to bring an umbrella.

Something warm brushed against Marcus’ calf. Looking down, he saw a ginger tabby with uncanny green eyes making his way to the cat door. The cat jumped through the door without glancing back, but a moment later the door creaked open and Nicke was peering through the crack.

“You don’t need to yell so loudly, we can hear you,” Nicke said. He focused on Marcus. “Hej Marcus. Kom in innan det börjar regna.” Nicke had once said, a little vaguely, that he was from ‘north of Stockholm,’ but his accent wasn’t quite right. He definitely appeared Swedish, but little things would give him away, like his archaic turns of phrase, his confusion over fika, and the points of his ears when his hair was pulled back. Claiming to be from Norrland didn’t quite cover all the discrepancies.

Marcus and Zhenya pushed past Nicke and into the shop, eager to get out of the cold. Nicke was shivering as he shut the door behind him, his nose and cheeks rosy with chill, his curls a staticky golden halo around his head. If it didn’t rain tonight, it would snow.

“Sasha is in the workroom,” Nicke informed them. “I’ll get him. And turn the heat up.” He darted into the gloom and vanished between the shelves.

“Not everyone can see in the dark, Nicke,” Marcus grumbled, groping along the wall for the lightswitch.

“I checked on Vítek Vaněček’s Facebook while you were driving,” Zhenya announced. There was the sound of something shifting and then a dull thud, Marcus was fairly certain Zhenya had forgotten himself and leaned on a shelf. At least it didn’t sound like anything was broken.

“What did you find?” Marcus prompted, inching forward to try the other side of the door.

“Twenty-two, Czech, used to play goalie for the university. Lives off campus with two or three others, but I don’t think they are students. His Facebook is pretty sporadic, but there haven’t been any new posts in a couple weeks. It fits with what Philipp told us.” Zhenya clicked his tongue. “After we talk to Sasha, I’ll find his address and we should go and visit.”

“It’ll be late by then,” Marcus pointed out. His fingers closed over something on the wall and flipped the switch. For a moment nothing happened.

Then the darkness exploded into silver light and booming thunder. Marcus clapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. He look a step back and fell over something, landing hard amidst the shards of whatever he’d broken, but he didn’t even care because the sound and light were beating against his skin and organs like water beating down on rocks at the bottom of the falls. He clawed at his cheeks with blunt nails. He tried to scream.

As abruptly as they had come, the sound and light stopped, replaced by a stillness that was cleansing. Marcus found himself curled on the floor amid what felt like a pile of broken pottery, his head spinning and his ears still deafened. He tasted blood in his mouth and his skin felt scratched raw. Slowly and carefully, he shifted upright and blinked into the darkness still around him.

“—very foolish, Zhenya, what were you thinking?” Alex Ovechkin’s voice suddenly scolded.

Marcus looked up to see nothing, just blackness and maybe the slightest hint of a darker shadow above them.

“Leave them alone, Sasha,” Nicke murmured. “I forgot to turn off the security system, they wouldn’t have known.” A strong hand wrapped around Marcus’ wrist and tugged him to his feet. “Well, that was exciting.”

Marcus swayed back and forth, blinking into the darkness. It took a couple tries before he could speak. “What the hell was that?”

“Security,” Nicke said, pulling Marcus across the room and pressing him to sit down. Marcus almost tripped, but Nicke was strong enough to hold him up, even as Marcus kept stumbling over the mess on the floor. There was a person seated beside Marcus, and Marcus jumped when their shoulders touched.

“Marcus?” Zhenya said, sounding exhausted. “Is that you?”

“Someone please turn on a light,” Marcus muttered. He sat back tentatively, making sure there actually was a back of whatever bench or chair they were seated on to catch him. Thankfully, he could feel Zhenya’s body pressed shoulder to knee against him. At least he knew where something was.

There was a moment before Alex spoke. “Huh, you still cannot see? Interesting.” 

“Alex?” Marcus demanded, just as blunt fingers started touching his face. They smelled of spice and herbs; it had to be Alex. “What do you mean, ‘still cannot see?’”

“Obviously I turn the light on when I turn the alarm off,” Alex said, distracted and still poking Marcus’ cheekbones. “Hmmm. You two stay here and not move. Nicke, please go cut a couple handfuls of basil and bring it up to the workshop. We’ll be right back.” He patted Marcus on the head and vanished.

“Nicke!” Marcus called, but Nicke was gone, too. It was unsettling to sit in the in the dark that had so recently attacked them, Zhenya’s body the only solid thing to hold onto. Marcus folded his hands in his lap, knuckles clenched so tightly they ached. At least it was quiet, and the ringing in his ears was fading.

Beside him, Zhenya sighed. “I can’t see my phone screen,” he complained. “Or I’d do more searching on Vaněček.”

“Sitting still is such a hardship,” Marcus said automatically, biting his lip.

“It is!” Zhenya tensed like he was about to leap to his feat, then slumped back down. “This is just temporary, yes?”

“Sitting? Or the blindness?” Marcus asked.

Zhenya’s fingers scrambled against Marcus’ knee for a moment, and then pinched him. Marcus yelped. “Blindness,” Zhenya said peaceably.

Marcus started to shove Zhenya’s hands away, but changed his mind halfway through, and held them in his own instead. “You know Alex,” he said, trying for confidence. “He’ll be back in a minute with some sort of cure. It’ll probably taste like ass.”

Zhenya’s hands were warm and nervous. “Probably,” he agreed.

The silence stretched between them. Marcus cleared his throat. “You were looking for Sasha again.”

Zhenya’s breathing hitched, and he cleared his throat. “Ah. Yes.” He fumbled his words.

Marcus leaned into the deep cushions of their seat. He didn’t know what else to say. Sasha Semin had no interest in being found, but Zhenya already knew that. It was a waste of time, but Zhenya knew that, too. He said, “Did you get some new information?” He tried to keep his voice neutral, but Zhenya shifted away from him, anyway.

“Sema wouldn’t have just left,” Zhenya said, an old argument that Marcus hadn’t wanted to get into, but Zhenya was wrong. Sasha had done worse than leave, he’d told them not to follow. 

“He clearly did,” Marcus pointed out evenly.

“Not everyone runs when things get hard,” Zhenya snapped.

Marcus recoiled. Zhenya said nothing.

Marcus stood, hands groping around him to make sure he didn’t run into anything or knock anything over. He made his way toward the back of the shop. There were stairs to Alex’s workshop hidden behind curtains, which Marcus pulled down while trying to go through. He left them in a pile at his feet. This time, at least, he didn’t set off any alarms as he fumbled his way upstairs.

What Alex called a workshop was actually the kitchen for the small apartment upstairs. When Marcus had lived there, Alex had done most of his spellcraft in the basement or in the house he and Nicke shared. Now that the four rooms lay empty, Alex had taken to mixing and casting there.

Marcus turned the handle to the apartment door and found it unlocked. When he pushed it open, he could hear the sound of chopping and the whisper of a lit gas burner. The door lead straight into the kitchen, and Alex must be in the middle of preparing the cure.

“Mackan.” Nicke was suddenly at Marcus’ elbow, guiding him up the last stair and into the apartment. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, I can’t see anything.” Marcus tried for frivolity and leaned against one of the counters. He thought that big shadow that was probably near the stove was Alex. Nicke was still holding onto his elbow, so at least he knew where someone was. 

“Sasha will fix that,” Nicke dismissed his comment. “You left Zhenya alone downstairs.”

Marcus half expected to hear a crash and bang as Zhenya forgot himself and sent half the store tumbling to the ground. “I wanted to see what was taking so long.” 

“Hmm.” Nicke didn’t sound convinced.

Alex, though, said, “I can’t just snap my fingers and make a potion. There is water to boil and herbs to mince and I have to make sure Nicke left enough vodka for us.”

“This spell has vodka in it?” Marcus asked, interested.

“All the best spells do.” Alex sounded like he was grinning.

“Basil and vodka. Delicious.” Nicke laughed a little.

“Basil and mint, a little garlic, steeped for tea. Add a splash of vodka and maybe some bilberry jam to focus on the sight loss,” Alex said meditively.

Marcus grimaced. “That sounds awful.”

“You can see again tonight, or in a week,” Alex said cheerfully. The teapot started to whistle and then trailed off. “Just a few minutes and all will be well.”

“A week?” Marcus yelped.

“That’s why you should really drink the tea,” Alex said.

“I’ll go and get Zhenya before he breaks something,” Nicke sighed and vanished.

Alex finished whatever he was doing on the stove came closer. At least, Marcus thought he moved closer, since his voice was louder when he spoke again. “You look mad.”

Marcus didn’t know if he wanted to talk about it at all, but he definitely didn’t want to talk about it with Alex. “Zhenya has a case,” he said instead.

“Ah, yes, _Zhenya_ has a case. Clearly it has nothing to do with you.”

Marcus wished he could see something. He’d like to throw something at Alex’s face, probably smug and definitely patronizing, and know that it wasn’t a knife, or a mug of tea he needed to drink in a few more minutes. He settled for scowling in the direction of Alex’s voice.

“And what is this case that made you stop by for the first time all autumn?” Alex pressed.

Had it really been that long since Marcus had visited? 

“Dragon eggs,” Zhenya said, entering the room with Nicke. “Someone stole dragon eggs.”

“Dragon eggs,” Nicke breathed. “Sasha, look at this.” The soft sound of his footsteps crossing to Alex’s side meant Zhenya was standing alone at the top of the stairs. It wasn’t a big kitchen, so Marcus reached out a hand, found Zhenya’s shoulder, and tugged him away from the edge.

Alex’s voice was cold when he replied. “What do you want me to do about it?”

Marcus blinked at his sudden chill. He wished he could see the expression on Alex’s face. He let go of Zhenya and tried to tell exactly where Alex was standing. That large shadow? Or was his mind playing tricks?

“I want you to find the siblings to this egg shard,” Zhenya said, undaunted.

Alex harrumphed. “I don’t think I have time. Maybe next month.”

“You’ve done scrying spells in minutes before,” Marcus pointed out, confused. He was pretty sure that was where Alex was, and took a step forward. He didn’t run into anything, so he took another step.

Alex said, “Not this time. Maybe later.”

“Sasha,” Nicke said, sighing a little.

“No,” said Alex. Something was shoved into Marcus’ hands, and he scrambled not to drop hot ceramic. “Drink, and then go home. Nicke and I are going to dinner.”

Marcus automatically sipped the tea. It tasted like watery Italian sauce, too thick for tea and sweet enough to curl the tongue. “This is terrible,” he muttered, taking another sip. Around him, the darkness started to fade. He took a bigger gulp.

“Works, though,” Alex said canninly. Slowly, his blue eyes and silver hair came into focus, along with the troubled lines between his brows he was unsuccessfully trying to hide.

“Why won’t you find the eggs?” Zhenya asked. His own eyes were sharp as knives as he looked between Nicke and Alex. Nicke was holding the ruby egg shard, looking thoughtful as he stroked his thumb across it.

“Why do I need a reason?” Alex frowned at Zhenya. “It’s none of your business. I’m not interested. Maybe someone else will do it.”

“But you’re the best!” Zhenya wheedled.

Nicke snorted. Alex shot him a glare, and Nicke mimed zipping his mouth shut. The moment Alex looked away, the smirk spread across Nicke’s lips.

“I can give you some names,” Alex finally said. “Someone else who can help.”

Nicke snickered, threw the shard in the air, and caught it. “I will do it.”

“Nicke!” Alex frowned.

“You can?” Zhenya’s eyebrows shot up with surprise.

“Why?” Marcus asked.

Nicke’s cat-green eyes looked at Marcus. “Why not?” He started to head toward another room off the kitchen; when Marcus had lived here it had been a living room, but the rugs and furniture had been cleared out and now it was entirely empty.

Alex stopped him by swiping the shell from his hands. “Fine,” he said, scowling stormily. “I’ll do it. You go somewhere else. I don’t need you.” As harsh as the words were, there was actual worry in his eyes.

Nicke touched Alex’s cheek lightly before obligingly heading back downstairs. Zhenya looked at Marcus, a question in his eyes. Marcus bit his lip. Nicke was running from something worse than his own past: the nightmare of Underhill, the Fairy Courts and all their bloodthirsty vengeance stalked him even after years of hiding. He didn’t know what Nicke had done to earn their enmity, but the Dragons were allied with the Fae. 

“Alex,” Marcus said. It might not be their best idea to involve Alex and Nicke. Maybe they should take the name of someone else to scry for the eggs. Cariddha had said they had a few days.

But how long was too long? How long before this turned from Ethuria’s personal tragedy to a public disaster?

Alex opened a drawer and removed a piece of chalk, a string, four candles of various colors, and a folded paper map. “This will take a moment,” he grunted, and put them all in the empty living room. When he returned to the kitchen, he pulled down a manual coffee grinder and several jars of woods and resins. The ginger cat from earlier jumped up on the counter and watched while he ground the incense and mixed it in a stone bowl . “Don’t give me that look, I’m upset with you,” Alex told the cat.

Marcus bit back the rest of his words. He drifted to look out the window. Outside, it was still foggy, mist curling through the empty street below. The distant streetlights did little to illuminate the alley. It was getting late. Dusk had been masked by the clouds and the storm, but the sun must have been low on the horizon.

“I’m sorry,” Zhenya said suddenly. The sound of crushing resin and wood didn’t quite mask his words. He was sitting on top of the table along one wall, his phone screen dark in his hand, expression unreadable as he watched Marcus.

The cat flicked a curious ear,and Alex’s glanced at them for a moment, but Marcus ignored the two.

“You weren’t saying anything I don’t know,” Marcus finally said. He moved closer to Zhenya. “I’m here, aren’t I?” He didn’t know if he meant that he’d been running when he’d come to the city, or that he hadn’t run yet. One day he’d have to call home again, and let them know he was still alive.

Zhenya sucked in a breath. “You aren’t— Marcus, I—”

Marcus had never seen him have this much trouble with English. He tried to smile. “It’s okay.”

“Мне было бы грустно без тебя,” Zhenya said. “I think you are the bravest person I know.”

Marcus sat next to him on the table, laughing quietly. “That’s not true.”

“Is so!” Zhenya argued, eyes wide.

Marcus shook his head. The cat jumped into his lap and licked his chin, butting affectionately against his chest and shoulder until Marcus scratched behind his ears.

“See, the cat agrees with me,” Zhenya said.

Marcus snorted. “You’re the epitome of unbiased,” he told the cat wryly.

The cat looked smug, licked his nose, and ran back to Alex.

Alex knelt to pet between the cat’s ears. “You two done?” he asked, not unkindly. “We’re ready.”

* * *

Alex had drawn a perfect circle on the hardwood floor and divided it into four sections. Marcus guessed that each line matched a cardinal direction, that Alex had chalked a compass rose onto the floor, but he didn’t ask, and Alex didn’t tell him. At the end of each line was an arrowhead and a candle. Inside each quarter of the circle was either a silver bowl of water, a gleaming knife, a small bowl of burning incense, or an inset piece of hematite. At the very center of the circle was the map, unfolded, with each corner touching the edge of the circle. Alex knelt before the incense, just outside the chalk lines.

“Take a seat where you want, just do not touch the circle,” Alex instructed. The cat ignored his instructions and walked inside the circle to sprawl across the map. Alex picked the cat up with one hand and set him outside the quarter with the knife. “Not this time, котенок.”

The cat jumped up Alex’s back to curl around his shoulders, instead.

Alex’s lips twitched in an almost-smile, and he pet the cat’s head.

Zhenya dropped gracefully down before the bowl of water, sitting cross legged and straight backed. Marcus hesitated before sitting near the hematite. The last time they’d done this, he’d sat before the knife, but even if the cat had walked away from it, that still felt like Nicke’s spot.

Alex nodded. “Good.” He picked up a match and struck it on the floor before lighting the yellow candle to his right. He moved clockwise around the circle, lighting next the brown candle, then the green, and finally the blue. He put the still burning match in the incense bowl and returned to his spot. Marcus could feel something start to stir in the air, a buzz like an old tv left on a blank channel. “Zhenya, put the eggshell on the map. Do not touch the chalk lines.”

Zhenya reached out and gently placed the shard on the map. The red of the shell reflected down on the map in odd shapes and angles. For a moment it looked like blood had splattered on the paper. Alex began to chant, a singsong of droning words he swore were Russian. They never sounded Russian in these moments. They sounded like the moaning of wind in the trees. 

Marcus’ teeth felt like they were humming in his mouth as the sounds vibrated through his bones and nerves. He tried to focus on the map, to see the moment the spell came to fruition, but he was caught by the strange expression on Zhenya’s face. Zhenya wasn’t looking at Marcus, or at the bowl of water. His face was chalk white. The blue of his eyes had almost swallowed his pupils.

The candles flared, shrank to nothing, then burned so bright Marcus flinched. Alex’s voice seemed to shake and crack. He was pale and sweating, and there was blood at the corner of his mouth. Marcus opened his mouth to call it off— something was wrong, this wasn’t the normal spell— but Zhenya’s eyes fluttered closed and fear rose up to choke Marcus. He wanted to grab Zhenya’s hand and pull him back. The feeling was so sudden and vicious Marcus started to stand.

The cat hissed and tore out of the room. The candles went out, plunging the apartment into darkness. The rumble of the thunder outside shook the walls. Zhenya’s eyes flew open. He stared at Marcus, but Marcus didn’t think he saw him.

With a crack like the thunder outside, Alex spoke the final words of the spell. The candlelight returned. The vibration of his bones ceased. Zhenya was standing.

“Is it done?” Zhenya demanded, breath short and eyes wild.

Alex climbed heavily to his feet. Weariness clung to him like a cloak, the lines around his mouth could have been carved stone. He reached down and smudged the chalk, then picked up the map and shell. He held them out to Zhenya.

As Zhenya’s hands closed around them, Marcus found his voice.

“What was that?” Marcus croaked.

“Power outage,” Alex rumbled. He rubbed at his eyes. “When the energy changed in the middle of the spell, it changes the balance. You two should go. Whoever you are searching for probably knows you are coming.”

“Alex,” Marcus started, but stopped. He didn’t know what he wanted to say. He felt uneasy, like pushing for this had been a mistake. 

Alex looked around the room. “Nicke and I might head out of town for a little while,” he said. “It’s not good to let too many know where he is.”

“You think it’s Fairies,” Marcus said, finally voicing their concerns. “Alex, if they find Nicke—”

“ _I know_ ” Alex snapped. “But Nicke wanted to help you, so we helped you. Now go find your egg thieves so we can get out of here.”

“Мы не можем отключить фею защиты. Мы могли бы воспользоваться вашей помощью.” Zhenya looked beseechingly at Sasha

“I can’t let them find Nicke,” Alex said.

“Sasha!” Zhenya pleaded.

Marcus wasn’t sure what they were talking about, but Alex’s face twisted. “Wait here,” Alex said, and left the room. He was back a moment later with a small wooden box, about the size of Marcus’ fists together. When he flipped the top open, there were three compartments inside. The first compartment had a small leather pouch, the second held three pieces of blue quartz, and the third was empty.

“Use the meteorite dust to check for spells laid in your path,” Alex instructed, pointing at the pouch. “The azurite will interrupt spell energies. And you can keep something hidden here as long as it fits.” He pointed at the empty spot, and then closed the box and handed it to Marcus. “This is a loan, bring it back.”

The box had to be worth a fortune. Marcus gingerly took it from Alex and tucked it under his coat. It was too big to fit in his pockets, and he wanted to keep it safe.

“Sasha, thank you,” Zhenya said, after folding the map back up and storing it and the egg shell safely in his pockets. He reached out and took Alex’s hands in his. “You know I appreciate it.” 

Alex unbent a little to smile at Zhenya. “I’m gonna send you the biggest invoice in the world,” he warned, squeezing Zhenya’s fingers. “Now go!”

They went.

* * *

Before they could hand the address over to the university, they were going to have to verify that the eggs actually were at the location on the map. Marcus didn’t like it, not with the threat of more fairies, and Nicke and Alex going into hiding, but the sooner they confirmed the information, the sooner they could get free of this mess, and so he drove them back to the office to pick up a coffee refill and some equipment, and then took them north.

They ended up backtracking to the university district. The map led them to a old family house a few miles from the school that had been divided up for cheap student apartments when the university had expanded fifty years earlier. The siding looked gray and neglected in the streetlights. The narrow driveway was empty save for a battered hockey net, but Marcus didn’t pull in.

“How do you want to do this?” Marcus asked, letting the car idle in the street a few doors down. They could still see the house, but they hopefully weren’t obviously casing the place.

Zhenya slid his lockpicks into the inner pocket of his coat. “Climbing will be slippery,” he said. “Maybe we knock?” He double checked his shoulder holster and made sure his coat was covering it. Marcus didn’t like that he was bringing a gun, but he had to admit that iron bullets might be useful.

“Whoever did this stole three eggs from a very large dragon. Do we really want to just knock on the door?” Marcus took the pouch of dust out of the wooden box and set it on top of his coffee. He wrapped a leather strap around the box and fastened it, and then slung the strap over his shoulder. His coat went overtop the box, and the pouch went into his pocket.

Zhenya showed him his phone screen. “I think this is Vaněček’s house.” Facebook’s gallery was open, and a picture of three guys, still spotty in their early twenties, playing street hockey in front of an identical house was displayed.

‘Hockey player by day, evil fairy mastermind by night’ did seem a little unlikely. “We could get a pizza and see if they bite,” Marcus said thoughtfully, flipping through the pictures to see a back porch with a balcony for the second floor. “You could play delivery boy. I can climb in the back window once we know if it’s upper or lower.” He flipped another picture. “Probably upper, I think this is his room.”

“You think you can climb up in this weather?” Zhenya was pulling on a pair of thin leather gloves. Even though he was facing away, Marcus could hear the doubt.

“Yes,” Marcus said, insulted.

Zhenya bit his lip. “No,” he finally said. “We know he has roommates. It’s too dangerous.”

Marcus frowned. “You don’t think you’re distracting enough?”

“I’m the most distracting!” Zhenya sounded insulted.

“Then there’s no problem,” Marcus decided.

“That’s— fire!”

“Zhenya!” Marcus scolded, half laughing.

“No!” Zhenya grabbed Marcus by the shoulders and twisted him to face the Vaněček apartment again. “ _Fire!_ ”

Little licks of red flames were flickering in the window. Marcus’ eyes went wide. “Someone else is after the eggs?!”

“Or dragons breath fire,” Zhenya said tersely, yanking open his door. “Either someone else is here, or Orpik is wrong and they finished hatching!” He took off down the street toward the burning apartment.

Both of those were bad options. Marcus turned off the engine and dashed after him, only taking a moment to glance around and see what kind of notice they were attracting. Everything looked shuttered against the gloom, and so he continued pounding up the street. The asphalt was slippery underfoot. The wooden box banged against his hip with every stride. Zhenya had already disappeared around the back of the house. Marcus, hoping he knew where the stairs were, followed.

The stairs were just as slick as the driveway; he slipped when he was halfway to the door banging his knee and straining his shoulder when he grabbed the railing to keep from falling. Zhenya was pounding on the door when he finally made it up there. Marcus had only a moment to worry that they were going to trip over fairy wards maybe they should use Alex's meteorite dust before the door was yanked open.

“It’s nothing! Everything is under control!” The words tumbled out as whoever spoke gasped frantically. Smoke spilled out of the apartment like clutter in an overstuffed closet.

Marcus peered over Zhenya’s shoulder to see a kid, maybe 20 or 21, sweet-faced and clearly terrified. There was shouting from further in the apartment, and the crackle of fire.

Zhenya shoved his way into the apartment. “Where are the dragons?”

“Dragons?” the boy squeaked. “There aren’t. Uh.”

“Out of my way!” Zhenya snapped, and ran toward the commotion.

Marcus grabbed the boy’s collar and dragged him close. “Who else knows about the eggs?”

“I, uh. I.”

Marcus shook him.

“This wasn’t supposed to be like this! We were just trying to save Vít!” the boy blurted.

He was clearly useless. Marcus let him go and darted after Zhenya. The apartment was a mess of smoke and college student. The fire alarm was dismantled in the next room, and he heard cursing and Zhenya through the next open door. The smoke seemed concentrated from there, as well.

The kitchen was on fire.

The stove, actually, and Marcus needed to grab Zhenya and anyone else he could reach and get out of here before this got out of control. Zhenya had found a fire extinguisher somewhere, but the fire was clearly too big to be contained, and was going to spread to the walls and counters in moments. The table was knocked on its side, the floor was ankle deep in ruby eggshards, and second person was cowering against the wall from three dragonlings. The dragonlings were one meter tall, screaming, and throwing sparks.

There was no way they could get the three babies out of here in time. They were too big and clearly scared and untrusting, all flaring wings and barred teeth. Marcus tried to remember what to do with a kitchen fire.

Fire was energy, right? Like the spell Alex had cast, like the storm overhead that had caused it to flux.

Marcus fumbled for the wooden box, unwinding the leather as fast as possible so he could grab a small blue stone. He threw it at the fire, holding his breath in hope and because there was too much smoke to breath easily.

The stone shattered immediately, and Marcus had a moment to curse his own stupid idea, and then the fire went out.

There were still sparking dragonlings and more smoke than breathable air and two guys who had been sneaky enough to steal from a dragon, but at least they wouldn’t be burned alive.

“You put the fire out!” said the guy who had followed Marcus into the room. Then, “Vee!” He tried to step toward the person huddled against the wall, but one of the dragonlings whipped its head around and hissed. It was more cute than anything else, given the size and memory of Cariddha saying dragonlings were mostly harmless, but it stopped him in his tracks.

Marcus looked at Zhenya. Zhenya shrugged, and put the fire extinguisher down. “Do you understand me?”

“Uh, are you talking to me?” ‘Vee’ squeaked.

“Of course not, stay in your corner. I’m talking to you three.” Zhenya gestured at the dragonlings.

The one that had been hissing cheeped, puffed up its cheeks, and blew out half a dozen sparks that went out on the vinyl floor, leaving behind brown spots.

“I’m Evgeny Kuznetsov,” Zhenya introduced himself. “Your mama, Ethuria, she hired me to find you and bring you home.”

The dragonling chirped again, turning to fully face Zhenya. It took a wobbly step forward, and then another. Zhenya caught it as it tripped over the pieces of shell on the floor.

“It’s okay,” Zhenya said soothingly. “We will take you home.”

“You can’t!” Vee said, jumping to his feet. “Ow! Ow!” He dove through the space between the two dragonlings before him and dashed so he could hide behind Marcus. “We need them to save Vít!”

“Who— or what— is Vít?” Marcus started to ask, but he was interrupted by a hoarse, hacking cough and the sound of a body falling against a doorframe. He turned around to see the two dragon thieves looking upset, and a third young man who looked like he should be in a hospital. He was bone white and bone thin with illness, the only color on his face the flush of fever on his cheekbones, and his eyes were dull. He dropped his hand from where it had been covering his mouth while he coughed, and there was blood on his palm.

“Vít, you shouldn’t be out of bed!” the first thief said, rushing to the sick man’s side. He tenderly wrapped an arm around the newcomer.

The sick man, Vít, tried to shake the thief off him, but he was too weak. He was staring at the dragonlings, but Marcus couldn’t read his expression beneath the illness. He said, “Why are there dragons here?” He coughed again and would have fallen over, except the thief was holding him up.

The two thieves looked heartbroken as they watched him suffer.

“Vít, you need to be in bed,” Vee said, voice trembling.

Vít looked at him. “What did you do, Jakub? Madison?”

All three of them stared at each other, wide eyed and pleading and desperate.

“He said we could save you,” the first thief finally said. “We had to do it. _He said he could save you_.”

* * *

The first thief was Madison, the second was Jakub, and the sick man was Vítek. Madison and Jakub hovered over Vítek even after he was situated on the couch in the living room with fresh blankets and a box of tissues, despite Zhenya glaring and the three dragonlings making periodic lunges toward them. Vítek told them that dragonlings usually ate meat their mothers regurgitated for them, so Marcus sat shredding chicken breasts and mixing them with water while they waited for Dr. Orpik, Devante, and Chandler to arrive.

“Why don't you tell us the whole story?” Zhenya suggested dryly as he fed spoonfuls of soggy chicken to the dragonlings. 

Marcus put another piece of thigh on the cutting board. “Not you,” he told Vítek when Vítek opened his mouth. “I don’t think you know anything, anyway.”

“I know a little,” Vítek rasped, but he settled back against the cushions.

Jakub and Madison looked at each other. Jakub, blond and fidgeting, shrugged. Madison, broad shouldered and panicking, took a deep breath.

“It started at the beginning of the semester,” Madison said. “Vítek started coming back from practice looking really tired and beat up. He lost the starter position to Mitch and was complaining that he was always out of breath. We all thought he had mono or something, but the doctor couldn’t find anything.” He looked at Vítek. “And then three weeks ago he just stopped looking for a solution.”

Vítek, coughing, didn’t seem to notice.

“He’s been getting worse every day and if it doesn’t stop,” Madison took a shuddering breath. “We have to save him.” His dark eyes were begging as he looked at Zhenya and Marcus.

“How would the dragon eggs help?” Marcus asked, forcing down his pity.

“It’s a curse,” Jakub said, at the same time Madison said, “This guy we met said he’d fix it if we did he a favor.”

“A curse?” Zhenya’s eyes narrowed as he looked up from the baby dragons. “And you believed some guy who said he had a cure?”

Jakub and Madison exchanged looks with Vítek. Vítek’s scowl turned into another coughing fit, and he twisted onto his side as tremors wracked his body. Jakub rubbed his back, muttering in a language Marcus didn’t recognize. Tears were streaking down Vítek’s face, and Madison abruptly ran out of the room, only to return with an orange pill bottle and a glass of water.

“Hey, Vít. Sit up for a moment, ok? Just swallow this. It’ll help the pain.” Madison held the pills to Vitek’s mouth, waited for him to swallow, and then helped him drink the water.

Vítek let Jakub settle him back in the blankets. “He was not a man,” he whispered. “He was a fairy. He wanted Ethuria’s eggs but I tell him, no, no. They are just children, I cannot do that.” His lashes were wet with tears.

“When did he come see you?” Zhenya asked.

“Three weeks ago,” Vítek said, and started coughing again.

Jakub’s pale face had gone paler. “You knew? And you didn’t tell us?”

Madison said, “Fairies can use the internet?”

“You met him on the internet?” Marcus asked, staring.

“He was in a forum online,” Madison explained. “He said he knew a way to cure illness, that he could cure anything, but we have to do him a favor. He needs a dragon egg.”

“Where is he? When is he coming to get the eggs?” Zhenya went to steeple his fingers, realized they were covered in food, and dropped his hands to his side.

“Tonight,” Jakub said. “I’m supposed to meet him tonight, and he’ll take the egg and give me the cure.”

“But the eggs hatched!” Madison said.

“Also, you kidnapped children to sell them to a fairy,” Marcus noted. “They’re going back to their mother.”

Madison clenched his fists. “He’s going to die.”

Marcus couldn’t really argue that. He could almost see Vítek fading as they talked.

Vítek coughed weakly. “You can’t give him the dragonlings, Maddie.”

“Then what can we do?” Jakub demanded.

Marcus looked at Vitek. “What about the meteorite dust?” he suggested to Zhenya, feeling doubtful. He didn’t know much about magic, but curses were strong. Alex’s box of tricks probably wouldn’t be enough, not if no one had any idea how to help Vitek after all these months.

“Maybe it will show something.” Zhenya leaned forward. “We should try.”

“Try what?” Jakub asked suspiciously.

Marcus ignored him. “We should call Alex, too.” These three idiots certainly weren’t after Nicke. If they could reach them before Alex and Nicke left town, they might also be able to get Alex’ opinion on what had happened to Vitek, as well as how to fix it.

“Good thinking,” Zhenya said.

Marcus handed the meat, cutting board, and forks to Madison. “Let me just wash my hands.” He rinsed his hands clean in the kitchen sink, dried them, and then took the pouch out of his pocket. When he unwound the leather thong that kept it closed, he found it filled with a fine, dark grey powder. It looked like normal dust, but it was heavy in his hands. When he touched it, he could feel gritty edges against his fingertips.

He went back to the living room. “Stay still,” he told Vítek.

Vítek looked alarmed, but too tired to disobey. Jakub said, “What are you doing?” as Marcus sprinkled a pinch of dust over VItek.

It fell in straight lines, not like dust at all. One line wrapped around Vítek’s throat, another bisected his face, and two more traced from his nostrils to his earlobes. The last line led from the dip of his chin straight down to his heart. There was no glow, or flash of power, but the evidence was unmistakable. Some kind of magic was covering Vítek.

Marcus looked at the numerous lines. They looked black against Vítek’s skin and shirt, like someone had drawn all over him in sharpie. “It looks complicated.”

Zhenya climbed to his feet, scattering chicken everywhere. “Try one of the stones.”

Marcus took a second stone out of the box. He didn’t want to throw it, not like he had with the kitchen fire, so he placed it gently on Vítek’s chest, right over his heart, where the longest line ended. Some of the dust shifted, but nothing else changed.

“What is that?” Jakub asked. “You threw one at the fire earlier.”

The stone didn’t break and Vítek remained sickly.

“It’s supposed to interrupt spells,” Marcus said.

Zhenya clicked his tongue. “Sema always hated curses.” He looked at Jakub. “You know anything about this one?”

Jakub said, “It’s in the email…” he pulled out his phone and opened up his email account. “See? He says it sounds like a curse.”

“He put curse on me,” Vítek said, starting to doze. “He say, if I get egg, he take it off.”

Jakub dropped his phone.

Vítek had said as much earlier, Marcus recalled. It was still ludicrous. Fairies might play by their own rules, but the war had only been over for a handful of years. If the Dragon Council found out fairies were contracting to steal eggs, it might be enough to shift their alliances, and the balance of power in the world. Of all the possible thieves to have stolen dragon eggs, humans contracted by fairies was possibly the worst outcome.

“Zhenya, did you call Alex? Maybe he’ll know how to remove the curse.” Marcus picked the stone back up. They should focus on the things they might be able to fix. At least they might be able to help Vítek before everything went down.

“I left a message, but I’ll call again,” Zhenya said, taking out his own phone.

“He put the curse on you?” Madison demanded, still focused on the.

“Mmhmm,” Vítek yawned. “Told him fuck it...I don’t care. Not gonna...not gonna hurt them.”

“That fucking monster,” Madison spat out between gritted teeth.

“The dragons will go back to the university. You said that you were supposed to meet the fairy tonight?” As Jakub nodded, Marcus continued. “Give me the address.”

Jakub blinked. “Why?”

“Because we might need it,” Marcus said. Because Vítek was a martyr who had chosen death over selling a dragon egg, and his friends had only wanted to save his life, and all three of them were idiots who had kept their secrets instead of reaching out to talk to someone who might be able to help them. Because Zhenya was going to want to help them. Because maybe they could help them. There had to be something they could offer to end this peacefully.

Jakub sent him the address. The meeting was at midnight, and Marcus didn’t think it was to be dramatic. Nothing with the fairy was for anything as simple as theatrics. The equinox had been a couple weeks back, and All Saints Day was coming, but it was probably as simple as midnight having power, standing on the cusp of two days. Fairies had power in the liminal.

Zhenya put his phone down. “Still no answer,” he said. “I left another message.” He looked at Vítek, and Marcus could see him weighing the boy’s slow breathing and ghastly complection.

Marcus jerked his head toward the ruined kitchen. Zhenya nodded and the two of them left Jakub and Madison to worry over Madison for a few moments alone. The dragonlings had finished their dinner, and were collapsed in a heap together as they slept.

“Devante texted, they should be here in ten minutes,” Zhenya said quietly, as soon as they were alone. He righted the table so he could sit on it as they talked. “I was thinking that you could finish up here and make sure the dragonlings get home safely, maybe try Sasha again before you go home? Vítek looks like he is in bad shape.”

“Once the dragons are gone, they can take him to a hospital and a cursebreaker.” Marcus suggested. Maybe someone with experience in fairy curses could fix this. Vítek had gone to experts before, but now that they all knew it was fairy magic, maybe that would be enough. Then he processed what Zhenya had said. “Why? Are you planning on going somewhere?”

Zhenya shrugged. “I thought I might take a look at this fairy they are supposed to meet tonight.”

“I thought we’d both go?” Marcus asked.

“The case is over,” Zhenya gestured at the eggshells on the floor. “We found the eggs, and the dragonlings, it’s a happy ending.”

“Except for Vítek,” Marcus pointed out.

“Except for Vítek,” Zhenya looked toward the living room, though they couldn’t see through the closed door. “He looks pretty bad.”

Marcus blew out a breath. “I have the time and place of the meetup. And the car keys.”

“Marcus,” Zhenya said, and then fell silent.

Marcus smiled at him. “We should get more coffee if we’re going to be doing a midnight stakeout.”

Zhenya’s face brightened. “And doughnuts!” He bumped shoulders with Marcus as he jumped off the table, and then grabbed Marcus’ hand and squeezed gently. “Be careful, Mackan. Faries are nasty, and to cross them is always worse for you than it is for them.”

“You don’t need to remind me, I know.” Marcus sighed. “Do you know why Nicke is running from the Courts?”

Zhenya let go of his hand. “No. But it must be bad, I think.”

“He said once they had nothing he wanted, but it didn’t seem right to ask questions.” Marcus started walking back toward the living room. He turned at the door because Zhenya had knelt and was picking up a few of the bigger shell shards. “Are you coming?”

“In a moment,” Zhenya said, sounding distracted. 

Marcus left him to it. He found Jakub and Madison tossing scraps of paper in the living room for the sleepy dragonlings to light on fire. Vítek was fast asleep.

Marcus rubbed his own eyes. “What are you even doing?” 

Jakub was smiling, looking a little less stressed for the first time that evening. “They want to play. Look, Tommy’s real good at this.” He threw a ball of paper, and one of the dragonlings reared up on its hind legs and blew out a deep breath. A handful of sparks showered from his mouth and engulfed the paper.

“Good job, Tommy!” Jakub praised.

“You named them?” Marcus asked, horrified.

“It seemed better than calling them ‘dragon baby one, dragon baby two, dragon baby three,” Madison said. He pointed at the second dragon and third dragons. “Mikey and André. And you already met Tommy.”

André opened his mouth to throw sparks at another paper but ended up sneezing instead. He singed the rug underneath him and fell over onto his belly, still swollen from dinner. Mikey and Tommy immediately ran over to check on him, or maybe to laugh. Whatever they were doing, they all ended up wrestling in a pile on the floor.

“Maybe don’t tell Dr. Orpik you named them,” Marcus finally said, just as the door to the stairs was thrown open and Devante, Chandler, and Dr. Orpik burst in.

Dr. Orpik looked more concerned with the tiny dragonling pile, but Chandler looked horrified.

“You named them?” Chandler demanded. “Ethuria is going to kill you!”

* * *

Most of the time between the doctor’s arrival and the midnight meeting was used convincing Dr. Orpik not to press charges against Jakub and Madison. Marcus told Madison to take Vítek to the hospital if they didn’t call before morning, and Zhenya tried and failed to reach Alex and Nicke one last time. There was just enough time to stop for coffee and doughnuts on the way while Marcus filled Zhenya in on what he knew of fairy bargains.

“Try not to make them, for one,” Marcus said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Zhenya snickered, but Marcus wasn’t being funny. “They’re older than us, and their word is binding, so they’ve got all sorts of tricks to get out of bargains. I was told that one of the reasons it took so long to get a peace treaty hammered out was that the Fae idea of a binding contract to end a war is very, very different from ours.”

Zhenya settled down and made a thoughtful sound. “So how to we get Vítek out of this bargain?”

“We don’t.” Marcus had a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. With an effort, he relaxed. “Vítek didn’t bargain with the fairy, Jakub and Madison did. I’m pretty sure they’re okay, the deal was pretty clear that if they brought an egg tonight, Vítek would be cured, not that something bad would happen to them if they didn’t. So we need to convince the fairy to let Vítek go.”

“How?” Zhenya asked again.

Marcus bit his lip. “I don’t know,” he confessed. He didn’t have anything a fairy would want. He could offer a favor, but the idea made his skin crawl. “Did you get a hold of Nicke?” Nicke might know what to say.

Zhenya shook his head.

“I guess we’ll see what they want.” Marcus swallowed hard.

“What about Alex’s box?” Zhenya said after a long moment.

Marcus blinked. The box was still under his coat, pressed awkwardly against his side as he drove. The fine engravings might be worth a bauble to the fairy, but the remaining pieces of Azurite? Those were valuable. “I,” he said, and thought about it. “Maybe. It would be a better place to start than with, ‘what do you want?’”

The address led them to a park just outside the city, in the first ring of suburbs. Marcus pulled in to a spot under a 'this park closes at dusk’ sign, but didn't turn off the engine. Trees, still clinging to their bright leaves, spread out before them, misty and faded in the streetlights. The chill of night was already condensing on the car windows. When lightning flashed overhead, the fog seemed to turn opaque, hiding everything behind a sheet of white.

Marcus didn’t believe in omens, but a chill ran down his neck that had nothing to do with the car heater fighting to keep up with the damp. He almost reached to take Zhenya’s hand, stopping himself at the last second and shoving his fingers into his pockets. 

“Where do we go?” Zhenya asked, calm and easy as ever, as he tucked the ends of his scarf inside his coat.

“The email mentions a grove of oak trees, but I have no idea where or how to find it in this,” Marcus admitted, pulling on a pair of knit gloves. “I think we should just keep our eyes peeled.”

“Do we know who we are meeting?” Zhenya buttoned his coat to his throat.

“The emails were signed James Brown,” Marcus dryly. “So, no.”

Zhenya adjusted his hat. “Alright then. Let’s go.” He opened his door and jumped out of the car with the energy of a man fueled by more coffee than sense.

Marcus took a deep breath to steady his nerves, turned off the car, and followed. The night seemed to swallow him whole as he walked quickly around the car. Zhenya’s pale face was shadowed and unfamiliar under the brim of his hat. Marcus clenched his fingers around the urge to get rid of it, so he could steady himself in Zhenya’s pale eyes and laughing mouth.

He jerked his head at the park, instead. “Come on.”

Zhenya nodded, and grabbed his hand. Marcus was disproportionately relieved at the familiar pressure of his palm. He held on tightly as they crossed into the park. The mud sucked at their shoes as they walked forward, and the fog glowed and eddied around them. The breath from their lungs melted into the mist, like even the air they breathed was part of the darkness. Marcus found himself breathing shallowly as he looked around.

There were many, many trees, and the world faded to white around them at ten paces. It was almost claustrophobic to stand in the center of it all.

“Well.” Zhenya’s voice was low but steady, whittling a small safe space between them. “What a shitty night, yeah?”

Marcus shivered. “Autumn came on fast.”

“It feels like winter is coming fast!” Zhenya sounded like he was trying to smile.

Marcus didn’t reply. Instead, he checked his watch. Eight minutes to midnight. Even in this weather, they had made good time.

Lightning struck overhead, reflecting through the fog and lighting it up yellow. Marcus jumped when the thunder crashed a moment later.

“Eight seconds.” Zhenya must have been counting the breaths between them. “Less than before. Storm is still coming down on us.”

“This night keeps getting better,” Marcus muttered. He looked around. “How far does this park go?” They had been walking for a few minutes, but the fog made everything look the same. Marcus had dreamed like this before, trapped in a forest with no way out no matter which way he turned. They had walked in a straight line from the car, he reminded himself. They could always pull out their phones and follow the GPS back.

As long as the GPS could reach through the heavy clouds and fog.

“Okay?” Zhenya asked, just before another peal of thunder split the sky.

Marcus didn’t get a chance to respond.

“A ssstrange placcce for a midnight tryssst,” the hissing voice seemed to come from every directed, hitting them from all sides. The voice was high and seeped into his ears like water through a leaky tent. Marcus didn’t know which way to look to see whoever had joined them. “What bringsss two young loversss to me in thisss witching hour?”

Zhenya’s hand tightened around Marcus. “Hello?” he called.

A brush of cold air on the back of Marcus’ neck ratched his heart rate up. He went to turn but Zhenya’s hand held him back and he almost tripped. Icy, claw-tipped fingers grabbed his shoulder and kept him from falling. Marcus tried to jerk away, but they held him fast.

Zhenya wasn’t as limited. He dropped Marcus’ hand and spun around, drawing his gun. His face was pale as the moon. “Let him go.”

The voice turned mocking. “And let him fall? You may have ssstumbled through the door to my houssse uninvited, but I am not ssso poor mannered.”

“Your house?” Marcus forced the words out past the fear that was thick in his chest and throat.

Zhenya met Marcus’ eyes for a moment, and then focused on whatever was holding Marcus. He seemed to be growing more solid with every passing moment, a bulwark Marcus would have like to steady himself on. “This is a public park,” Zhenya said firmly. “You need a permit to claim dominion here.”

“Clever fool, thinking he knowsss all the anssswersss,” the voice sneered. “Idiot wandering through the night. Thisss is my domain, you tressspassss.”

“We’re meeting someone,” Zhenya said. “Maybe they’re your guest. Or maybe they are you?”

The voice hesitated.

Zhenya saw something that made his eyes turn fierce. “No, not you,” he said. “But I don’t think you want to meet the person we are here to see.”

Marcus winced as the claws sliced through his coat and into his skin. He suspected Zhenya was right, but whoever held him didn’t want to hear it.

“Draudllem only caresss for the boy. He won’t care if I keep one of you asss a sssnack!”

Marcus was yanked another step back, and the fog thickened between him and Zhenya. Zhenya cursed and Marcus was dragged another step away, wishing he hadn’t let go. Zhenya tried to aim but Marcus was a human shield, and no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t move enough to give Zhenya a good shot. He could feel the heat of his own blood seeping through the inside of his coat. He kicked back, trying to hit a knee or a joint of some kind, but he didn’t even know if the thing taking him had joints.

Another step, and Marcus’ arms were on fire, his coated soaked with his own blood. He could barely see Zhenya through the fog, couldn’t tell what was keeping Zhenya from chasing after him, but he knew the other man. Zhenya wouldn’t let him go without a fight.

A shot rang out, as if Marcus’ thoughts had willed it, and the voice snarled and stumbled. A second shot, and Marcus had one arm free.

He grabbed for Alex’s box. “Wait!” he said. “Wait! A bargain!”

The thing stopped moving. “What would a fool have to bargain with?”

“Don’t shoot!” Marcus yelled to Zhenya, scrambling with the bindings around the box. His fingers were slick with his own blood as he slid under the lid, and he almost dropped the two remaining crystals as he tried to pull them free. “These,” he said, thrusting them out. “Let us go to safety, and you can have these.”

These was an intake of breath, and a thoughtful silence Marcus prayed he was reading correctly. “Two ssstones for two idiotsss? Ssseemsss a poor bargain for me.”

“And you don’t get shot again,” Marcus pointed out.

Another moment, and then, abruptly, he was free. Marcus stumbled under his own weight, falling back on his knees as the two crystals were snatched from his grip. The mud soaked his pants as he scrambled away. Zhenya was suddenly by his side, pulling Marcus to his feet.

By the time Marcus was able to turn around and look, whatever had found them was gone.

Marcus looked up at Zhenya. “Fuck,” he said. He shouldn’t have offered the azurite. He should have offered the box alone, or the meteorite dust. He’d been so scared.

“Fuck,” Zhenya agreed. At some point between shooting and running, he’d lost his hat, and his eyes looked wild and vulnerable without the shadows to guard them. “Fuck, Marcus,” he repeated, and kissed Marcus hard on the lips before grabbing Marcus’ arms to check the wounds.

It happened so fast Marcus almost thought he’d imagined it. Maybe he did imagine it. Zhenya was unwinding his scarf from around his neck to use as a bandage, and it was too dark to make out the expression on his face. He was pushing Marcus’ sleeves past his elbows, not looking up and Marcus—

Marcus—

“I’m sorry,” Zhenya said. “I should not have done that. I know you are not interested.” He used a small pocketknife to cut the scarf in two. The cuts on Marcus’ arms were deep and still bleeding, and Marcus wondered if it was the blood loss that left him dizzy.

“I don’t,” Marcus stuttered helplessly. “What?”

Zhenya wrapped the scarf a little tighter than Marcus would have liked. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “You are my friend. Please, forget about it.”

Marcus wished desperately that there was enough light to see the shape of Zhenya’s mouth, the furrow of his brows, if his eyes were sad. The brief glimpses of Zhenya’s face in the lightning were indecipherable; Marcus needed to study the curve of his smile, or the cut of his frown. He reached up to touch; if he couldn’t see maybe he could feel.

He must have blacked out for a moment, because his fingers weren’t touching Zhenya’s jaw. His fingers weren’t touching anything: he was standing alone in a fog so thick and black it was like his eyes were still closed. Marcus rubbed his eyes to clear them, but the darkness remained.

Had the blindness from earlier returned?

Marcus hadn’t panicked at Alex’s because he knew Alex, knew that they were in good hands and safe, that whatever ridiculous thing had happened to them would be resolved quickly. Standing blind in the fog, surrounded by trees with blood slicking down his skin, he felt panic start to bubble over.

Something grabbed his chin. 

“Zhenya?” Marcus stuttered against the firm grip on him. He didn’t think it was Zhenya. Zhenya smelled like damp felt and the remnants of the morning’s aftershave, and whoever had grabbed him smelled like sulfur and ozone. He pulled ineffectually at the stranger’s arm, blinking furiously against the mist. His arms were still bleeding.

He wasn’t blind. He saw a white face glowing down at him in the night, proud delicate features and eyes glittering violet as they stared at him.

“A strange night to be out.” The fairy’s voice was almost lost in the coming storm, or, perhaps it sounded like the thunder and the wind scattering across the trees overhead. “What brings you so deep into my forest, human?” It was deja vu of the worst kind, a nightmare that hadn’t ended, only this time Marcus was alone as the fog rolled around them.

Marcus swallowed to wet his dry throat. “This is a public park.”

“Is it?” the fairy asked, studying Marcus’ face.

“It is,” Zhenya’s voice cut in, bold and solid. “Let him go.” He was standing behind the fairy; Marcus could only see his face, white as the moon and almost glowing in the night, and the glint of his gun.

“And here I was worried I would have no entertainment tonight,” the fairy mused.

“Let. Him. Go.” Zhenya repeated.

Marcus pulled the pouch of dust from his pocket. “A bargain,” he rasped.

The fairy grabbed the pouch and only gave it a cursory glance. “This parlor trick? For me?” they threw the bag to the side, face twisting in a sneer. “I should break you for the insult.” Their eyes gleamed. “Is that how you convinces the troll to let you live? Cheap magic tricks for cheap lives.” They dug their nails into Marcus’ chin. Marcus tried to pry their fingernails out of his skin, smearing blood between them.

Zhenya looked at Marcus, a question in his eyes. Marcus had no answer to give him. Zhenya’s gaze hardened, and he nodded once.

“These, then,” Zhenya said. The gun had vanished, and it its place gleamed a handful of eggshells, shining like jewels in his hands.

The fairy frowned, some of the intensity leaving their face as they abruptly let Marcus go. Marcus stepped back immediately, fingers flying to cover the wounds on his chin. The fairy darted like raindrops to Zhenya, a shadow backlit by the ruby light from the eggs. Marcus didn’t remember the shells glowing before, not in the cavern with Ethuria, not in Vítek’s apartment, not in the car on the drive to the park.

Then lightning light the night and the fairy thundered, “ _You_!”

The night returned. The wind whipped up in a frenzy around them. Marcus couldn’t see anything, but he heard the sound of striking flesh, and then the eggshells scattered like embers from a fire into the grass. Something hard snapped, and Zhenya grunted.

Marcus ran forward, almost falling on the slippery grass. “Zhenya!”

“Thief!” the fairy screamed, and it sounded like branches breaking above them. “Liar, grifter, little cretin who thinks he can use me? Fool me? Ruin me!” 

Lightning flashed again, and Marcus saw Zhenya on the ground and the fairy holding him by the throat before everything went dark. Thunder rumbled. Something cracked, and the rain finally fell in torrents.

“I’ll pour the marrow of your bones for wine and use veins for ribbons,” the fairy seethed and thunder roared.

Zhenya screamed.

Marcus slipped on the muddy ground when he ran, his breath lost as he spilled onto the ground. Lighting, again, he was on his belly in front of the fairy, Zhenya a crumpled shape at the base of a tree. The fairy looked at him with eyes burning like rubies. Darkness, thunder, and a hand wrapped around Marcus’s wrist and threw him aside like garbage. Marcus cried out as he landed on his side. As he scrambled to his hands and knees, Zhenya screamed again.

It cut off abruptly.

“Wait!” Marcus shouted, desperation thickening his tongue, so the words almost stuck in his throat. “ _Wait_!” His voice was barely a whisper over waterfall around them.

“Another bargain, thief?” the fairy sneered. “You stole my dragon eggs, and you expect a bargain? Your payment will be your lives!”

“Nicklas Bäckström!” The moment he spoke the words, everything seemed to freeze, the rain, the wind, and Marcus’ heart. He didn’t have time to think, he just continued. “I know where he is.”

Marcus felt a presence standing over him, and he looked into shadow and ruby fire. He scrambled back.

“Lars Nicklas Bäckström,” the fairy said. Lightning lit his face in black and white, stark shadows under his eyes turning fair into demon. Strands of black hair were plastered to his forehead from the downpour, cutting the white glow of his face and turning it monstrous.

Marcus nodded. “You let us go free. Zhenya lives. And you lift the curse from Vítek Vaněček.”

The fairy smiled as lightning lit the world, a mockery of true sight that vanished as thunder cracked. “It is struck,” they said. “Where is he?”

Heart in his mouth, Marcus gave away the location of Alex’s shop.

When the next bolt of lightning crossed the sky, the fairy was gone.

Marcus dropped down beside Zhenya’s crumpled body, hands hovering helplessly. He didn’t know where to touch. He cleared his throat. “Zhenya?”

A cold hand touched Marcus’s cheek, and Marcus jumped, terrified there was one more fight before they could flee. They never should have come here. He should have left Vítek to his fate. He should have made Zhenya listen, and they never should have taken this case.

“It’s okay,” Zhenya slurred, struggling to sit up. “I think nothing is broken.” He leaned heavily into Marcus’s side, though, and Marcus wrapped an arm around him and tucked him close. Zhenya laid his head against Marcus’s shoulder. He was too cold.

“Fuck, Zhenya,” Marcus said helplessly. He kissed Zhenya’s forehead. “I didn’t think— I couldn’t— I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t know they would….” He trailed off, shaking.

Zhenya reached up and pet his hair. “Okay, it’s okay, we’re okay.” He was shaking, as well.

“I don’t want to forget,” Marcus blurted out. “I wish you’d kissed me longer.”

It was as terrifying to admit as it was to talk to the fairies.

Zhenya said, “Mackan,” like he’d been wounded, like his ribs were cracked open and his heart was visible. He shifted in Marcus’ arms.

Marcus didn’t let him kiss him again. “We have to go. We have to, we have to call Alex and Nicke.” Marcus had sold out Nicke. Alex might kill him for this.

He started to stand up, but Zhenya pulled him back down. “A minute,” he said. “Just a minute. You’re running away from me.” His voice, hoarse and raspy, broke on the the words.

“I know,” Marcus breathed, and scrambled back so he could pull out his phone. He didn’t want to see the hope in Zhenya’s eyes, or watch it fade away.

* * *

The car was only a dozen meters away under a streetlight, and neither of that had been true when they had struck their bargains. Marcus wondered if they had been walking through the park at all, or if they had wandered, unquestioning, into Underhill. When he checked the time on his phone, only fifteen minutes had passed.

Zhenya didn’t press any further, didn’t hold his hand or ask for anything as they made their way back to the car. He looked slender and vulnerable in the headlights as they approached the car, head bare and hair bedraggled as bruises came alive on his throat and cheeks, but Marcus couldn’t offer anything more than his confession. His mind bounced from the hope and resignation on Zhenya’s face, to the betrayal he’d bought their lives with.

“No answer, still,” Zhenya said tersely as they climbed into the car. His voice was still thick and scratchy. “They were going to hide for a while. Maybe they are already gone.” He didn’t sound like he believed it.

“We’re twelve minutes away,” Marcus said.

“Not in this rain, Marcus,” Zhenya sounded tired. “It’s no good to save us from fairies if you kill us on the highway.”

It felt like a rebuke. Marcus looked at Zhenya, but Zhenya’s face was blank and staring straight ahead. Marcus didn’t push. He didn’t think he actually wanted to hear what Zhenya might say.

“I’ve gotten us this far,” Marcus finally said evenly. He turned the car on and back out of the parking spot.

“I’m grateful,” Zhenya said, softer.

Marcus’ hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Could you try Nicke’s phone?”

Zhenya called again, and again, and again, as Marcus drove as fast as he dared into the city. He left a voicemail the first time, telling them to call back as soon as possible, that things had gone bad. Marcus squinted through the deluge his windshield wipers was barely keeping back and went a little faster.

Marcus usually parked on the main street so they didn’t clog up the small alley where the entrance to Alex’s shop was. This time he skidded to a halt just outside the door. Zhenya was up and out of the car almost before they had stopped, flying up the sidewalk and pausing just before the threshold.

Marcus yanked the keys out and followed.

The door was hanging off its hinges, and the flashing light and booming alarm were a miniature storm, blaring into the already stormy night. They were too late. Marcus hesitated a moment, worried that they’d be affected the way they were earlier— had it only been a few hours? But it didn’t matter. Even if Alex hadn’t thought to let emergency responders enter after the alarm was tripped, he owed it to the two who had given him refuge when he needed it most.

The store was a mess of shattered glass and broken wood. The light flashed like strobe lights, illuminating the debris in brief snippets. Marcus tried to avoid the worst of it, but every footstep crushed something, glass or wood or some other small trinket Alex had made. The sound was oppressive as it reverberated through their bones.

Zhenya said something, but Marcus only shook his head. He couldn’t hear a word. Zhenya looked around again, studying the walls. Marcus headed for the door to the upstairs apartment.

He found Alex, somehow small and as shattered as his shop, at the base of the stairs at the same moment Zhenya did something to turn off the alarm. The shop was plunged into darkness for only a moment, and then the overhead lights turned on. Marcus fell to his knees beside Alex.

“Мой Бог,” Zhenya breathed into the silence.

Alex was bleeding from a dozen wounds, his face swollen and misshapen, his silver hair stained red from all the blood. His limbs were bent in the wrong direction, and red marks like handprints were darkening to bruises on his neck, terribly similar to the ones that colored Zhenya’s.

Marcus’ hand shook with guilt and horror when he tried to take Alex’s pulse. The moment he touched Alex’s skin, too cool against his own chilled fingertips, Alex gasped, sucking in air. His eyes opened to slits in his bruised and swollen face.

“Nicke,” Alex wheezed. He tried to move. “ _Nicke_.”

“Don’t move,” Marcus said. “Zhenya! Zhenya!” He looked up at Zhenya, helpless and unsure of what he could do. He didn’t know if he could touch Alex without hurting him, or killing him. He was afraid to try.

“Call an ambulance,” Zhenya ordered as he stripped off his coat and jacket. He took off his shirt, as well, and started tearing it into strips. Marcus fumbled his phone out. While he spoke to the emergency operator, he did his best to help Zhenya bandage to worst of the wounds, and slow the bleeding. 

Alex didn’t respond to their ministrations. He didn’t seem to realize they were there at all as he called for Nicke. He coughed blood and shook.

Marcus was shaking, too, remembering Zhenya’s scream in the night, and then the silence that came after. He got to his feet once the worst of the wounds were wrapped. “I’ll check and see if the ambulance is here.”

He didn’t wait for Zhenya to reply, just ducked out to the front stoop to check for flashing lights. The rain beat at his shoulders. Marcus realized he hadn’t zipped his coat up, and his sweater was already soaked. There was blood under his fingernails, but he didn’t know if it was his own, or Alex’s. He scrubbed at his hair and tried not to think. He made another phone call.

It felt like he stood in the rain for hours, but it must have only been a few minutes before the ambulance and police cars arrived. Marcus took them into the shop, and told them as little as he could. Alex was a friend of his. They had been calling all evening to try and get ahold of him and decided to stop by, finding the shop ransacked and Alex injured.

It must have been almost dawn by the time the cops let Marcus and Zhenya go, though it was hard to tell. The thick clouds and heavy rain were still blanketing the city, and there was no gray light on the horizon. Marcus and Zhenya found plywood to board up the broken door and then sat, exhausted, in the car with Alex’s first aid kit.

“What do we do now?” Marcus finally asked, as Zhenya squeezed glue onto the parallel cut on his arms. There were three on each arm, red and swollen and still seeping blood.

“Go home. Sleep.” Zhenya said, pulling out gauze to cover the sealed cuts. His collar was turned up so the police wouldn’t notice his neck, but there was nothing to be done about his scratched cheek.

Marcus thought about his small apartment with it’s tiny kitchen and thin mattress. It seemed distant and unattainable. The steering wheel blurred in his vision. His arms still hurt. “What about Nicke and Alex?”

Zhenya shook his head. “Let me drive,” he said gently. “I’ll take you home.”

* * *

Marcus went into the office later that morning after a bare hour’s sleep, a thermos of coffee in his bag and a travel mug in hand. He had thought about checking the wounds on his arms, but it seemed like too much effort. The apartment had been empty and cold. The storm, and the images of Alex’s bloody face and Zhenya’s crumpled body, had made it impossible to find sleep. He was still bleary eyed, but he could write up the invoice for Chandler, and stay in a place that was infused with Zhenya’s spirit.

He had almost stopped by the hospital to check on Alex on his way in, but decided he’d go after work.

Marcus was at his desk and focusing on drawing up the schedule of costs, and starting to feel more human. He was calculating the mileage and gas costs when the door to Zhenya’s office slammed open, and both of them jumped in surprise.

“Marcus!” Zhenya said. “What are you doing here?” He made an aborted step toward Marcus.

“Zhenya!” Marcus gasped. “You’re here!” He looked Zhenya up and down. Zhenya’s face was thin and drawn, the shadows deep under his red eyes. He had paused midway through wrapping a scarf around his neck, and the bruises were still visible. It was a different scarf than the one he had ruined last night, which still lay bloody and discarded on the floor of Marcus’ car. “Have you slept at all? Where are you going?”

Zhenya let the ends of the scarf settle. His head was bare, and Marcus didn’t remember if he’d had his hat after the events of last night. “I have a lead,” he said, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Why are you here?”

“It’s Tuesday,” Marcus said. “I was just,” he gestured at his computer. “A lead for what?”

Zhenya didn’t come any closer, and Marcus wondered if he would have, before yesterday. “You should take the rest of the day,” Zhenya said, a little softly, like he was trying to be gentle with Marcus. “Are your arms okay?”

Marcus found himself clenching his fists. “Zhenya.”

“Make it the entire week,” Zhenya continued. “You’ve been putting in a lot of hours, yes? Take some time for yourself.”

“Would you just tell me what’s going on?” Marcus snapped. “Clearly you’re about to do something stupid, so just tell me so I know what to expect.”

That startled a chuckle from Zhenya. “It’s not stupid,” he defended himself. “Just, last night was very hard. Maybe it is better if you do not worry about me for a while.”

Marcus just looked at him until Zhenya sighed.

“I am going to get Nicky back,” Zhenya confessed.

Marcus stared. “How?” He’d tried to think of something he could do, some way he could fix this awful betrayal, but what could he do? He had traded Nicke’s freedom for his and Zhenya’s life. How could he undo that?

“We know two entrances to Fairyland,” Zhenya explained, starting to do up his coat.

“Two? We know the park, but I’m not sure we’re welcome there.” Marcus stood up and walked around his desk, coming to stand beside Zhenya.

“The dragon caves at the university,” Zhenya said.

Marcus blinked as yesterday’s trip underground suddenly took on a new aspect. “That’s how they fit all that land onto the university grounds.” He felt a little foolish; he had noticed the strangeness of the experience, but figured it was just magic, not Underhill. Of course the dragons, who had allied with the fairy for centuries, would have entrances to Underhill. There was even an argument that dragons _were_ a type of fairy, though both groups denied it.

“And why Ethuria and Cariddha were convinced the eggs wouldn’t hatch for a few more days,” Zhenya agreed. “I should have known sooner, but I was too caught up in getting to the eggs. I think we can go through the caves to get there without having to pay a toll or deal with fairies looking to bargain.”

Marcus grabbed his coffee and took a large sip. “Underhill isn’t small,” he pointed out. “How would we even find Nicke? We’d need, well, we’d need Alex and Nicke.” They’d need magic, and these days they were precious short on that. Maybe Zhenya was right, and they really did need to find Sasha Semin.

Zhenya pulled something out of his pocket. “I think they already helped us.”

Marcus took it from him. It was a small compass on a long chain, the pretty gold setting not quite gold or brass or any metal Marcus recognized. When he opened the cover, he found a tiny curl of familiar blond hair stuck to the inside with dried blood. The needle wasn’t pointing north, instead spinning around and around in circles. He closed it back up and looked at Zhenya. “This seems like a long shot.”

“It seems like hope,” Zhenya said, still gentle. “I can always hope.”

Marcus gave the compass back. “And you were just going to go and hope for the best?”

Zhenya shrugged. “I have to try.”

Marcus didn’t say, ‘why didn’t you ask me?’ or ‘did you think I’d run from this, too?’ or ‘of course I’m coming with you, I can’t let you do this alone.’ He did say, “Let me just grab my coat.”

Some of the tension eased out of Zhenya’s face, and Marcus realized Zhenya had been hoping he’d come. It was just like him to act like he had everything under control when he really needed help.

Marcus blamed Sasha Semin for that, too.

“Good,” Zhenya said. “You can drive.”

Marcus relaxed, as well. He turned off his computer and grabbed up coffee, coat, and Alex’s wooden box. Before Marcus could put his coat on, Zhenya pulled it out of his arms and set it back on the desk.

“Wait,” Zhenya said, pushing Marcus’ sleeves back. He unwound the bandages to reveal half-healed red lines. The swelling was down, and the bruises were an ugly collection of black and blue, yellow and green. Zhenya whistled. “Alex has the best first aid kit,” he said, but covered the cuts with fresh gauze and antibiotic cream, anyway.

When he was done, Marcus went to the car. Two days ago, Zhenya’s gentle hands on his wounds wouldn’t have made his heart ache. At least, Marcus wouldn’t have had to think about how his heart ached when Zhenya took care of him. Marcus hadn’t lied when he told Zhenya he didn’t want to forget, but it would have been better for both of them if he did.

Zhenya locked the office behind them and climbed into the passenger seat. He pulled out his phone while Marcus started the engine.

“We’re going to the university, right? Not the park?” Marcus asked as he maneuvered out of his slot on the street. He hadn’t been comfortable parallel parking before moving to the city. He hadn’t even owned a car when he’d been a student. Public transportation was a lot worse here, though.

“Yes,” Zhenya nodded. He looked up, a slight furrow between his brows. “What do you know about Fairyland?”

Marcus flipped his directional on and waited for a break in traffic to turn left. “Not much,” he said slowly. “They call it Underhill, and it’s more like an infinite amount of pocket dimensions that a world. They’re still all connected, though; no matter which entrance you use, you can get anywhere. I know it doesn’t make sense.” He cast a quieting look at Zhenya before he could object. “But that’s how it works. Time runs differently. There are lots of stories about humans following a fairy inside for a night and returning home a hundred years later. Eating and drinking things is dangerous.” He made the turn.

Zhenya fiddled with his phone. “That’s mostly what I found online. I was hoping you knew more, or maybe Nicky had told you something else.”

Marcus tried to think of anything Nicke had said about Underhill. Nicke didn’t usually talk about Underhill, didn’t even talk about being fairy. He’d been with Alex during the war, and Marcus thought that said more than Nicke ever could. “Mostly he says they are a bag of dicks,” he confessed.

Zhenya snorted. “Of course he does.”

Marcus smiled slightly. “Turn your jacket inside out if you want to pass unnoticed by them. I don’t think they know he’s a cat.”

Zhenya bit his lip. “I don’t know which one to talk about first,” he confessed. “He’s a cat?”

Marcus spared him a glance. “The big ginger tabby.”

“Alex’s familiar?” Zhenya looked gobsmacked. He muttered something Marcus didn’t catch but was probably just a mess of Russian curses. “Seriously, how did I not know that?”

Marcus laughed at him, and it felt good to smile, like something rough and grating between them had softened. “It’s pretty obvious! Whenever the cat goes away, Nicke comes back. And when Nicky goes in another room, the cat comes out. Aren’t you a detective?”

“It is a cat,” Zhenya scowled, but it was all an act: his eyes were warm with humor and he could barely keep the expression still. “A cat,” he repeated.

“I think he learned how to do it after he met Alex. At least, that’s what it sounded like,” Marcus said.

“Do you think we can smuggle a cat out of Fairyland?” Zhenya asked. “I’ll add it to the list,” he said, once Marcus had shrugged.

“List?” Marcus raised his brows, turning onto the highway going northeast. “What else is on your list?”

“Nothing,” Zhenya admitted. “It’s ideas for how to get Nicky out again once we find him. I don’t think it will be as easy as just running out the door.”

“If he could leave, he would,” Marcus agreed. “Nicke wouldn’t leave Alex if he had a choice.” He wondered if Zhenya knew how Alex was doing. It was the right moment to ask, but he couldn’t force the words out.

He drove in silence for a few more minutes before Zhenya jerked upright. His eyes were wide and bright. “How did Jakub and Madison manage to sneak the eggs out?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just flipped his phone to his ear and made the call.

They had to stop at Vítek’s apartment to pick up a jar of oil. Madison tried to get them to come inside, saying that Vítek was doing to much better now, they had to see, but they declined. At least one good thing had come out of last night’s bargain, but Marcus didn’t want to face the evidence of it just yet. He couldn’t stand to see if Vítek had stopped coughing or was able to stand up straight, when Alex was in the hospital and Nicke was gone, and so they just took the jar.

“We used Vítek’s ID card and a couple of lab coats,” Madison said, standing at the end of the driveway and looking dubiously at the jar. “But Jakub had us draw this symbol with the oil on our foreheads, too. I think it worked? It was supposed to be for the dragons, but no one bothered us at all.”

“Just dragons?” Marcus frowned, but Madison only shrugged helplessly.

“We’ll ask,” Zhenya decided.

The oil was thick amber, almost honey-like, with swirls of dark throughout it. The jar itself looked like a hollow, faceted crystal, a gleaming gold stopper on the top. The symbol they were to draw was—

“Is that a palm tree?” Marcus asked dubiously.

Madison shrugged. “Jakub’s not really a good drawer.”

They left quickly after that, tucking the small jar into the third space of Alex’s wooden box. The other two sections were empty, now that the pouch of dust lost in their flight the night before, and the stones used or bartered.

It was early afternoon when they parked outside the dragon center. They didn’t have Vítek’s ID or Chandler with them, so they had to explain to the guards that they were there to talk to Ethuria and Dr. Orpik. It was fudging the truth a little, and security actually summoned Dr. Orpik when Zhenya’s quick smile wasn’t enough to get them general access to the center.

“Maybe we should have tried the oil here,” Zhenya muttered as they waited for Dr. Orpik. They leaned against the glass doors to the center. The fog had burned off while Marcus slept, and the clouds had thinned to fluffy white cotton in the blue sky. It was a relief not to be soaked as soon as they walked outside.

The doctor didn’t come himself, instead sending Philipp to vouch for them. He began grinning as soon as he saw them, though the bags under his eyes rivaled their own. “Detective Kuznetsov! Mr. Johansson! Thank you so much for everything you’ve done!” He clasped both their hands. “Thank you for making sure Vítek wasn’t charged,” he said, a little quieter before continuing normally. “Ethuria is a little put out that the dragonlings won’t respond to the names she picked, but she has all of her children, so she’s too pleased to get worked up about it. What brings you back? Is it paperwork?”

Marcus and Zhenya exchanged a glance. “We would like to speak to Ethuria, or Cariddha, please,” Zhenya said.

The smile faded on Philipp’s face. “Is something wrong with the dragonlings? It’s unusual for children to have that kind of experience, stolen and returned, but it happened so quickly, it can’t have turned their hearts, they seem perfectly normal.”

Marcus had no idea what he was talking about.

Zhenya adopted a stern expression. “We just need a moment.”

Philipp helped them dress in the heavy padded armor, looking like a kicked puppy as he signed off on their admittance into the dragons’ caves. Marcus felt a little bad for the deception. He couldn’t figure out what Philipp was babbling about, but it sounded serious. Philipp tried to pry more information out of them on the way to Ethuria’s cave, but Zhenya repeated that he needed to talk to Cariddha or Ethuria, and Marcus just pressed them faster until they were too breathless to talk. It took much longer to walk to the cave than it had to fly.

Cariddha was actually sitting by the mouth of the cave, waiting for them. Marcus thought that if she had been human, she would have been a nosy old lady knitting on her porch and keeping up with all the neighborhood gossip. If she had been fairy, she would have sat beneath a willow tree and all the village children would tell her their heartbreaks, hoping she would fix them. Her brilliant eyes blinked slowly at them as they fought to catch their breath before speaking.

“Well?” she finally demanded.

“We beg a moment of your time,” Marcus managed.

After a moment, Cariddha said, “Oh! You mean privately. Well, well, isn’t that interesting.” She grinned. “Not afraid I’ll eat you up?”

“No,” Zhenya said.

Cariddha laughed, grabbed each of them in a talon, and flew off. It happened so fast Marcus wasn’t sure which way they had gone until he saw the blue of the sky around them. The wind was brisk and beautiful, and the lake was filled with splashing dragonlings and dragons sunning themselves on the beach. They landed just a few minutes later at the garden where Ethuria had agreed to let them search for her missing eggs.

“Now we can talk.” Cariddha said smugly, setting them down one on each side of the table and presiding at the head. Her tail flicked behind her.

Zhenya looked at Marcus. Marcus shrugged, and Zhenya shook his head a little.

“We need to get into Fairyland,” Zhenya said. “We are wishing to use your entrance to get through.”

Cariddha went entirely still. “To Fairyland.”

“Underhill, if that is what you call it,” Zhenya waved his hand. “We just need to go through.”

Cariddha was quiet for a long moment. “This is a difficult place you put me in,” she finally said. “We owe you a debt for returning the dragonlings. But we have promised to keep our doorway sealed. Why do you want to go to Underhill?”

“Our friend was taken,” Marcus said.

Cariddha looked skeptical. “And are you Janet, to bring Tam Lin home again?”

Marcus had no idea what she was talking about. She must have ready their mystified expressions, because she rolled her eyes and snorted. “It doesn’t matter. Why should I care? I didn’t bargain with the Courts. If you want to risk your life running around Underhill, it’s nothing to me.” She narrowed her eyes at Zhenya. “If we do this, if you can make your way to Fairyland through our caverns, then our debt is paid.”

‘We need to be able to go to a specific place, and then come back,” Marcus said. “And for only a day or two to have passed.”

Cariddha shook her head. For the first time, Marcus noticed that her ruff was pierced with charms and jewels, and they jingled like bells as she moved. “And what specific place do you want to find?”

Zhenya pulled out the compass with its lock of golden hair and blood. “Wherever he is.”

“Oh, my,” Cariddha breathed, reached out to very lightly touch the tip of her talon to the compass. “That’s a powerful charm. Does the fairy who it is tied to know you’re running around with their blood and bone and hair?”

“Bone?” Marcus blurted out.

“The casing, boy. What did you think that lovely gold was?” Carridha shook her head, marveling. “I’d hide that better, if I were you.”

Zhenya looked at the compass. “Here,” he said, passing it to Marcus. “Will it fit in the box?”

It did, if only just. Marcus wrapped the chain around the jar of oil and squeezed both magics inside. The lid clicked shut, and Marcus put the box back in his coat.

“A door to your fairy, and a way out,” Cariddha said thoughtfully, and grinned. “Done. I’ll hold the way for one day. If you return by then, you’ll be safe when you come back to our lands. After that, I’ll let the door go, and you can find your own way home, whenever that is.”

* * *

The way through the caves turned out to be an actual doorway, a huge, carved wooden door set into the rock walls and painted with flowers and bones. There was no handle, but it opened at the touch, and Cariddha took her place outside it and let her tail poke through the opening.

“Twenty-four hours,” she said, settling more comfortable on the sandy ground. “And then I’ll need to get back to Ethuria and her brats.”

“Twenty-four hours,” Marcus said, peering curiously through the doorway. It was hard to see past the frame; his eyes didn’t want to focus on anything, but he thought he saw flickering candlelight. Looking made his eyes water, and so he turned away.

“Will your twenty-four hours be the same as in Fairyland?” Zhenya asked. He bounced a little on his toes, anxious to get started. Marcus felt the same nervous energy. A day to get in, find Nicke, free him, and get out. Maybe they should have tried the park entrance, maybe they could have bargained themselves a guide. With what, Marcus had no idea, but maybe they could have come up with something.

It was past time for maybes.

Cariddha grunted, recalling Marcus’ attention. “That’s why I’m holding the door.” The _idiot_ was unvoiced, but strongly implied.

Marcus snickered. Zhenya made a face.

“Thank you,” Marcus said, turning back to Cariddha.

“You should probably leave now,” Cariddha said. She closed her eyes and rested her head on her folded forelegs.

Marcus took a deep breath. “Right,” he muttered, but didn’t move.

“Just one thing,” Zhenya said.

Cariddha growled.

“We have this oil,” Zhenya continued undaunted. “Do you know if it will work on fairies?”

Marcus had forgotten about the oil. He pulled the jar out of the box and twisted the cap off to show to Cariddha. About half the jar was left, and it smelled like of pine nuts.

Cariddha sniffed it. “Is that what the thieves used? Hermes’ Blessing?” She snapped her teeth, and Marcus pulled the jar back just in time to keep it out of harm’s way. “That will blind you to anyone with magical sight, so, yes, it will work on fairies. Don’t rely on it too much, if they know you are there, they’ll see through it.” She glowered at them. “I’ll reinforce the wards. It won’t work again.”

Zhenya and Marcus exchanged glances. Marcus dipped a finger into the jar and drew, as best he could, a palm tree on Zhenya’s forehead. The stuff felt like paint, but the color diluted on Zhenya’s skin, so the barest sheen of light was the only evidence of the mark. Zhenya took a little bit of the oil and gave Marcus the charm, as well. The oil was cool on his skin; Zhenya’s hand felt like a brand. Zhenya watched him with unreadable eyes as he brushed his fingers over Marcus’ forehead. After a moment, he took his hand away, and Marcus was left with the memory of heat and the odd chill.

Zhenya started to say something, but closed his mouth and turned back to the open door. He put his hands in his pockets. “Let’s do this.”

Marcus put the oil away and nodded. He wondered, as they walked forward to the doorway, if Zhenya was as scared as he was. He gripped the box strap so he didn’t try to catch Zhenya’s hand. It was new, having to watch his body to make sure it didn’t betray him. But Zhenya had kissed him once, and Marcus wanted it so badly he could never let it happen again.

Crossing the threshold was like jumping into a lake back home, the shock of cold water sending all the senses spiraling. Marcus fell to his knees, lightheaded and nauseated. He closed his eyes against a world that spun around him and took deep breaths to try and get his bearings.

The seconds ticked by. Marcus’ body slowly came back under control. He opened his eyes to a richly decorated foyer, lit with elegant oil lamps that created flickering shadows. Overhead was a chandelier that looked like branches of a red maple in autumn, ruby leaves suspended as though they were about to fall. The dark paneling was draped with darker tapestries and paintings. Two spiraling staircases climbed up each side of the room. There were numerous tables garlanded with berries and withered sunflowers and turning leaves. 

“Fuck,” Zhenya said, spinning in a slow circle to take it all in. “Where are we?”

Marcus got back to his feet. He looked over his shoulder, where a massive, two-story, black wood door was cracked open just a bit. There was the end of a dragon’s tail wedged in the corner, keeping it from closing all the way. “Fairyland,” he said. “I guess we have to start looking somewhere.” He set his wristwatch timer for twentty-four hours. As the numbers immediately began counting down, Marcus had to swallow his nerves. It seemed like a very small amount of time.

The sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway to their right, and Marcus and Zhenya exchanged panicked looked before they both ran down the opposite hallway. It was darker, with fewer oil lamps and heavy black curtains drawn closed. The sound of their footfalls was louder than it should have been. The soft brush of their shoes somehow echoed back and forth and back again. Zhenya took the first turn they came upon. Marcus skidded after him, almost knocking him over as Zhenya looked at the two doors in front of him.

“Which one?” Zhenya hissed.

“I don’t know!” Marcus looked between the two, trying to see if there was anything different between the two. The doors looked to be made of the same dark wood that lined the halls, intricately carved with vines and flowers and— were those skeletons?

Were those skeletons _moving_?

Marcus looked closer at the woodwork. There were little gravestones and skeletons. Every time he blinked, the skeletons were in a different position, like they were dancing when no one could see them. Marcus shivered. Had Zhenya noticed? Should he say something?

“—And tell Ghodvern that I saw him take that necklace off the Duchess’ neck and he better put it back before she notices.” Someone was coming.

Marcus didn’t wait to see if they were about to be discovered, he grabbed the door handle to the left and yanked it open. Zhenya and he jumped through and were immediately swallowed by a crowd of dancing, laughing fairies and an eerie melody that seemed to resonate up through their bones. It was a dizzying swirl of color and sound. Ethereal dancers swept by in robes and dresses of jeweled velvet, their heavy garments and ringing jewelry a whispering counterpoint to the haunting melody.

No one paid them any attention.

Zhenya grabbed Marcus’ hand and tugged him further into the crowd. Even as they brushed through the dancers, no one looked at them. Marcus could feel the messy shape Zhenya had drawn on his forehead like a bruise. He could feel Zhenya’s fingers curled around his like a vice.

“They can’t see us,” Marcus said quietly as Zhenya led him deeper into the room.

“Seems like it,” Zhenya said. Marcus could hear the frown in his voice. “I don’t know if we want to rely on that, though.” He tried to force his way past a couple wearing matching green velvet, and accidently stepped into them. Eyes narrowed, and a head swiveled in their direction.

Marcus tugged Zhenya back to him and caught his other hand. “Try moving with them,” he suggested, pulling Zhenya into the dance.

Zhenya looked started for a moment, almost pained before his expression smoothed out and he caught on. He put his hand on Marcus’s shoulder. Marcus put an arm around him. Looking at the crowd over Zhenya’s shoulder, he tried to mimic their movements. The dance ebbed and flowed like the ocean tide. Zhenya was a little graceless against him, notable because Zhenya was the most graceful person Marcus knew. Marcus looked up, about to say something, ask why Zhenya was so uncomfortable, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

The blank look was gone from Zhenya’s face. His brows were furrowed as though in pain, his lips pressed thin as he bit back on words. His eyes were trained on Marcus’ face, blue as the winter sky, pale and filled with too many shadows. He was looking at Marcus and Marcus felt caught, pinned like a butterfly to a card. He hated how badly he wanted to be seen, and how badly he wanted to hide.

Zhenya blinked and Marcus looked down again. “There’s sitting areas through those doors,” Zhenya whispered.

Marcus had no idea why they’d go to a sitting area, but getting off the dance floor sounded like a great idea. He guided them across the room slowly, weaving in and out of the other couples. Zhenya’s hand was a reassuring weight on his shoulder, his waist solid under Marcus’s fingers. Marcus wasn’t a very practiced dancer, but after the initial awkward moments, Zhenya followed Marcus as though they’d danced together for years.

It was hard to pay attention to where they were going when Zhenya was so close and so quiet, harder with the colorful dancers swirling around them like yesterday's mists, but Marcus managed to get them to the archways that separated the ballroom from the sitting area before the end of the song. Still, he didn’t let Zhenya go until the sound of strings had faded, and the drums began to pound a new beat.

Zhenya stepped back, and Marcus said, before he thought better of it, “Thank you for the dance.”

Zhenya was flushed already, from the heat or the dance or maybe, like Marcus, the press of the other’s hand, but he turned a little more red and said, “Marcus—”

“What are you doing?” Someone hissed, and Marcus startled so hard he almost knocked Zhenya over. He spun around and saw a human, tall, thin to the point of gauntness, and still spotty with youth, staring at them with wide and horrified eyes. “You can’t be here!” the boy exclaimed. He looked around wildly, then ran for a set of curtains. “Come quickly!” He dove through the curtains and vanished.

Zhenya glanced at Marcus, shrugged, and went after him. Marcus followed a little more sedately, the uncertainty of what they were walking into slowing his footsteps. When he ducked through the curtains, he found an open archway, an empty room, and piles and piles of coats.

Marcus blinked, looking around at the carefully hung garments, cloaks and hats and garments of every color and hue. “Do fairies actually need outwear?” he blurted. Nicky certainly didn’t.

“No,” the boy said, “But they like to be stylish.” He seemed a little more relaxed now that they were away from the fairy crowds. He cocked his head. “You don’t know that? I knew you weren’t servants. Why are you here? Don’t you know how dangerous it is to be here?”

“Who are you?” Zhenya countered, drifting to stand beside Marcus.

The boy blinked. “I’m Fairwind.” He looked uncomfortably at the ground. “I’m a servant here.”

“I haven’t seen any other servants, human or fairy,” Marcus said.

Fairwind flushed. “We aren’t supposed to be seen! That’s why I knew I had to get you out of there!”

“No one was bothering us,” Zhenya pointed out.

Fairwind opened his mouth, then closed it. “Yet,” he finally said belligerently. “That charm on your forehead won’t last forever, and then where will you be?”

“How long does it last?” Marcus asked. No one had told them about any time limits on the oil.

“I don’t know,” Fairwind admitted. “Let me see.” He stepped in closer to Marcus.

Marcus let him inspect the mark.

“Another hour, maybe?” Fairwind said doubtfully. “It is a pretty good charm, I guess.”

“That’s good to know,” Zhenya said in an undertone to Marcus.

Marcus nodded. “Thanks.”

Fairwind shrugged. “You should leave, anyway. Just because it’s strong enough to last for an hour doesn’t mean someone won’t see through it.”

“You saw through it,” Zhenya said, at the same time Marcus asked, “How did you see through it?”

“It’s for fairies,” Fairwind said, giving them a strange look. “I’m human.”

“You are human,” Marcus agreed. “So why are you here?”

Fairwind eyed them warily. His clothing was well made, but plain, and there was evidence of careful patch jobs on the seams and knees. With all his spots, he looked about eighteen, but time could play tricks Underhill, so Marcus couldn’t know for certain. He seemed very self assured, though he clearly didn’t trust Marcus and Zhenya.

“I live here,” Fairwind said. “Why are you here?”

Marcus looked at Zhenya. Zhenya looked at Marcus. They had no idea if Fairwind was trustworthy, and the fact that he was inside a fairy court argued against saying anything true. But he had helped them, and it would be hard to find Nicke in a house this size—

“The compass!” Marcus exclaimed, then snapped his mouth shut. He had completely forgotten about the compass. He almost opened the box to pull it out, but sense reasserted itself: Fairwind was staring at him.

“We’re looking for someone,” Zhenya said hastily. “He just returned here after many years away. Once we find him, we will be gone.”

“If he's here, you don’t want to find him,” Fairwind said, darkness clouding his eyes. Part of the treaty to end the war had included an exchange of prisoners. With the contract for Ethuria’s eggs, and now finding Fairwind in Underhill, Marcus wondered exactly how many loopholes the Fae had managed to include in the deal.

“Nicky is worth finding,” Zhenya said, after another shared glance with Marcus.

Marcus bit his lip and hoped their trust wasn’t misplaced.

Fairwind had cocked his head thoughtfully, clearly thinking. “Lars came back yesterday,” he said slowly. “I didn’t know him before he left, but they say he’s always as kind as he can. He’s been in his room all night, I don’t even know if he’s come down to the party yet.” He focused on Zhenya. “I can get you to his room, if you want to talk to him, but you really have to leave after.”

“We won’t be sticking around,” Marcus said. “As soon as we can all get out of here, we're gone.”

Fairwind nodded. “Alright. Here, put these on.” He took a glittering gold and black cloak and tossed it over Zhenya’s shoulders, and then dropped a deep blue wrap with stars embedded in its folds over Marcus. “There aren’t any masks here, so put the hoods up, just in case.”

Marcus looked at the shimmering fabric. “Alright.” He tucked the ends around him, covering as much of his pants and coat as he could.

Zhenya’s cloak was a little too long for him, brushing the floor and shadowing his entire body. When he pulled the hood up, the shadows turned his face almost impish, the curve of his lips the only part visible. The bruises on his throat framed him with darkness. Marcus folded his fingers into a fist so he wouldn’t reach up and cup his cheek to make sure he was still there.

Fairwind peeked through the curtain to the sitting room. “Okay, come with me.” He stepped out of the room.

Marcus and Zhenya followed him through the sitting room and a second curtain, this one hiding a hallway. It was less lavish than the rooms and halls Marcus had already seen, with fewer carvings and tapestries, and their shadows fell long on the floor. Marcus did his best to memorize the passageways as they made their turns, left and right and left again, up two flights of stairs and then right.

They returned the more decorated parts of of the house a few minutes later, and Marcus realized that even though there were paintings and more lights and a thick carpet underfoot, the atmosphere was just as chilly and dark as it had been in the back hallways. He watched the doors they passed, and they were covered in carved graveyards and dancing ghosts.

“Fairwind,” Marcus asked quietly. When Fairwind glanced back at him inquiringly, he continued. “What holiday is everyone celebrating?”

“Samhain is tomorrow,” Fairwind said, and stopped walking. “Wait here a moment, okay?” He opened another door and vanished inside.

 _Samhain_? Marcus mouthed the word. It wasn’t that late in October. For a moment he worried that Cariddha hadn’t kept time the way she’d promised, but he couldn’t think that way. There was nothing he could do about it, he would just have to trust. Marcus should be better at blind faith, by now.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts when he saw Zhenya’s face twisted with confusion.

“What?” Marcus asked.

“This is where Nicky is? It seems,” Zhenya struggled to find a word. “Odd,” he finally finished.

Marcus looked around. It was hard to tell what was odd here when everything was weird. The dancing skeletons, the flickering shadows, all of it teased at the edge of his vision and sent shivers up his spine. But it wasn’t a dungeon, even though Nicke had been running for years, and it didn’t look like any of the guests were here. There actually were a few more plainly dressed fairies rushing back and forth, carrying food or wine or linens. None of them looked at Marcus and Zhenya.

“What do you think—” Marcus began, turning to face Zhenya again, but he was interrupted by the crack of wood as the door Fairwind had left threw was thrown open. He jumped and looked to see what had happened, still expecting to see Nicke.

He saw a fairy who was looking fiercely up and down the hallway. “Is this a trick?” she demanded.

“They have a spell,” Fairwind’s voice chimed over the fairy’s shoulder. “I left them right there in front of you.”

Zhenya swore and spun to run. Marcus froze, because the fairy’s eyes had just caught his.

“Got you,” the fairy said smugly. Her arm shot out and Marcus’s entire world collapsed into darkness. As light and consciousness faded, he thought he head: “Thieves and trespassers. Take them all to the dungeon,” and Fairwind’s shocked yelp, but then everything was smothering dark, and he knew nothing at all.

* * *

“—Explain it, one. More. Time.” Zhenya’s voice was steel, and Marcus flinched instinctively. Zhenya didn’t talk like that, like he was laying down the line and going to defend it, no matter the cost. Well, he had once, the first time they had met, and Marcus was still young and thought the world could be fair. He knew better, now, but that— that—

His head hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Fairwind said, voice small and terrified. “I had to. You don’t understand, you were going to get caught, and it wouldn’t just be you that got killed for it. I had to, or they would kill me, too.”

“Who,” Marcus tried to say, but his voice came out a croak. He swallowed and rolled over onto his side, because he had been lying down. “Who would die?”

“Marcus!’ Zhenya exclaimed, his voice turning worried and Zhenya-like again. “Careful!” He was suddenly beside Marcus, helping him upright.

Getting up made the headache worse, and Marcus felt too sick to force himself to pull away. He ended up leaning heavily into Zhenya’s side. Zhenya’s arm felt nice around his shoulder, and it kept him from falling awkwardly back to the stone floor.

“What happened? Who’s dying?” Marcus asked, his words muffled by Zhenya’s collar.

“No one is dying,” Zhenya said soothingly. “We are captured. You must have hit your head when it happened, there’s a big bump here.” His free hand touched the edge of a swollen, aching bruise on the back of Marcus’ skull. He was trying to be careful, but even the light pressure made spots appear in front of Marcus’ eyes.

Marcus squinted into the shadows around them. There was bare stone walls around them, and a bare stone floor. Zhenya’s coat was wadded up nearby, possibly having been used as a pillow. There was a small amount of light that came in through a barred door to his right. “We were going to see Nicke.”

“Yes,” Zhenya said. “And then Fairwind sold us out.” His voice was almost perfectly even, almost friendly.

Fairwind said, “I had to try something. I don’t want to die down here.”

He had a lot of composure. Marcus liked that about him, had liked the way Fairwind had been so calmly secure in himself from the start. Maybe if Marcus had liked him a little less, they wouldn’t be—

“Where are we?” Marcus wondered aloud. “How long was I unconscious?”

“A dungeon,” Zhenya said cheerfully. “Too long. It will be fine.” His eyes met Marcus’ and Marcus could feel the twenty-four hour time limit like a vice around his throat. How long was too long?

“These are the cells on one of the lower levels,” Fairwind said. “I don’t know which one.We were all unconscious when they brought us here, and things don’t stay in the same place, now that the Harvest King is back.”

Harvest King. Marcus tried to think where he’d heard that term before. 

Zhenya said, “Harvest King?” in a silken way that meant wherever Marcus had heard it before, it hadn’t been from Fairwind.

Fairwood shifted a little further away from them. In a cell barely three meters on each side, there wasn’t really anywhere else to go, but he wedged himself against the door. Marcus absently wondered how long Zhenya had been interrogating him. He hoped Zhenya had learned what he needed to know.

His head fucking hurt.

Fairchild took a deep, slow breath. “I told you, they don’t tell us servants much,” he began.

“But you hear things anyway. No one notices the servants,” Zhenya said, not cruelly, but not letting Fairchild escape. He tightened his arm around Marcus. Marcus closed his eyes and let Zhenya take more of his weight.

“We hear some things,” Fairwind acquiesced. He slid down the wall until he was crouched down, and wrapped his arms around his knees. “The Harvest King starts off the Spring Prince,” he said slowly. “He’s picked on the day of the spring equinox, and he’s celebrated and given all the best gifts and can have anything he wants. He can have anything, or anyone, until the autumn equinox, when he’s sacrificed to ensure a bountiful harvest and a mild winter. We haven’t had one in a long time, though, not since I can remember, so everyone’s nervous about it.”

“Nicky,” Zhenya said levelly, “He is the Harvest King.”

The Harvest King was sacrificed on the equinox. The Harvest King could ask for anything he wanted, and receive. Nicke hadn’t wanted anything fairy could give him. Nicky had run, and Marcus had sent him back.

Marcus pulled out of Zhenya’s arms. He was swaying a little, and his head throbbed like a foghorn, but this, this had to be a joke, or wrong. _Fairwind sold us out,_ Zhenya had said, so they couldn’t believe a word he said. “Bullshit. The equinox was last month,” Marcus glared at Fairwind.

Fairwind didn’t snap his fingers or announce they’d discovered his dastardly lie. He said, “It’s Samhain. They think it’s close enough, because they don’t want to wait a full year.”

“It’s not, it’s not that late into October!” Marcus didn’t recognize his own voice, the sound of himself begging. He was shaking. “It’s just something to distract us,” he said to Zhenya.

Zhenya didn’t look like he thought it was a joke. “And so if we took Nicky, and vanished, it would be your fault,” he said, softening toward Fairwind.

Fairwind buried his head in his knees. “They’ve waited twenty one years,” he said. “Winter is getting colder, the summers shorter, there isn’t enough food! Even the fair folk are getting restless.”

“No,” Marcus said. He looked at Zhenya. “No.”

Zhenya caught his hands and squeezed them gently. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We won’t let them kill Nicke.”

Fairwind scrambled to his feet. “No, you aren’t,” he said. Maybe it was the dark and shadows that made his eyes look so huge and desperate. “You’re stuck in here with me and you can’t cause trouble. You won’t ruin this.”

“He’s our friend,” Zhenya said. “We won’t let him die because his people think he’s the reason winter is getting bad. Tell them to talk to a scientist. It’s the fossil fuels.” He dropped Marcus’ hands, and slid something out of his sleeve. Lockpicks.

Marcus felt a rush of pride and fondness that almost offset the headache. He looked at Fairwind. “You should really help us this time, instead of playing games.”

Fairwind snorted. “Help you? You’re going to get me killed.”

“Not if you come with us,” Marcus offered quietly.

Fairwind’s jaw dropped a little, like he hadn’t even considered that an option. Like he had to stay in Underhill, like he couldn’t conceive of escape. Marcus almost felt sorry for him. He’d said it had been twenty-one years like he’d lived them, and every one of them was a nightmare.

And then the sound of footsteps silenced all of them. Fairwind scrambled to his feet, looking around wildly. He backed away from the door and ended up in a little clump with Marcus and Zhenya. Zhenya’s lockpicks had vanished, back wherever he kept them hidden. For the first time since he’d woken up here, Marcus checked to see if he still had the wooden box. It was there, still strapped to his side and under his coat like a secret.

Two sets of footsteps stopped outside their cell door. The lock screamed as it turned, old and rusty from lack of care. When the door began to open, someone said,

“Leave me.”

It was Nicke.

Marcus stared in shock as the door opened and Nicke was there in the flickering tlight. Footsteps started back as whoever had been with his left, but Nicke, Nicke stayed. He did not come closer.

His face was blank, his eyes clear as an empty glass. His golden curls were carefully brushed and gleaming around his face. The fine clothes he wore were russet and gold. He stared at the three of them, giving no special weight to any of them, and didn’t say a word.

Something was wrong. “Nicke?” Marcus asked.

Nicke stayed standing in the doorway. “They told me you were looking for me.”

“You’re okay,” Marcus said, wanting to feel relieved, but something was worse than wrong. There was no flash of recognition in Nicke’s eyes, no happiness or anger to see them, nothing but cool disinterest. They had betrayed him to being brought before a Fae Court and murdered for magic and superstition, and he looked at them like there were strangers in the street,

“Of course.” Nicke studied them and dismissed them and it was worse than if he had been furious. “Did you want something? A boone from the Harvest King you thought you could sneak in and wish for?” His words were flat, uncaring.

“Nicky,” Zhenya said. “We are sorry. We’re going to fix this.”

Nicke’s flat green eyes stared at Zhenya. “Why do you keep saying that name?”

“It’s your _name_ ,” Marcus said, choking on the wrong and his own self-blame. “Lars Nicklas Bäckström. Why don’t you remember us?”

Even in the shadows of their cell, Marcus could see Nicky lose all color. “How do you know my name?” he whispered, and then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, and spun on his heel to stalk out of the cell. “Lock the door back up,” he announced. “I don’t care what happens to them, tell the Queen she can do as she likes.” The door slammed shut, and he was gone, just fading footsteps.

The door was locked, and then they were alone again.

“He’s heartless,” Fairwind breathed. “He can’t feel anything! But that’s the point of the Harvest King, he has whatever he wants for half the year! This is wrong.”

“Heartless?” Zhenya asked. “What does that mean?”

“It means we did worse than just give him up,” Marcus choked on his guilt and shame. “That isn’t Nicke anymore.”

Zhenya shook his head. “That was Nicky. He didn’t know us, but that was Nicky.”

“He didn’t know us! He didn’t hate us! He might be Nicklas Bäckström, but he wasn’t Nicke,” Marcus said miserably.

“He’s heartless,” Fairwind repeated. “He can’t hate you. I don’t know why he didn’t know you, but he can’t hate anything. He doesn’t like anything, or dislike it, and you can’t do that to the Harvest King. That’s the entire point!”

Zhenya had pulled the lockpicks back out. “New plan,” he said, with much more confidence than Marcus could feel. “We escape, we find Nicky, break the spell, and then get out of here and never come back.”

* * *

Zhenya had almost managed to pick the lock when the guards came back.

“Did no one check them for contraband?” the captain demanded, one thick hand squeezing Zhenya’s wrist where is angled out of the barred door window. The bars that marked her rank were pinned to her shoulder, and the same red as Nicke’s clothing. Her yellow eyes gleamed as she scowled at the three prisoners, and she abruptly twisted Zhenya’s arm until the he cried out. She kicked the tools when they clattered onto the ground and spat in Zhenya’s face before letting him go. Zhenya stumbled back with his wrist cradled against his chest.

“Zhenya!” Marcus rushed to him.

Zhenya was shaking and his mouth was white with pain, but he managed a tiny smile. “I’m okay.”

“They’re just humans,” an enormous green guard with pitted eyes and a mane like water weeds objected. There were tusks in his mouth as big as Marcus’ forearm.

“Humans who snuck into our Samhain festival,” the guard captain snapped back. “Clearly they aren’t harmless.”

“They had inside help!” a third voice objected. They were too small to see through the door, and Marcus really didn’t care. He was trying to get a look and Zhenya’s hurt wrist, but Zhenya was being stubborn.

The guard captain growled. “Stand back from the door,” she directed Zhenya, Marcus, and Fairwind. “The Queen is ready to pass judgement.”

“Judgement?” Marcus asked, looking up again. A shiver of cold ran down his spine. He pulled Zhenya a few more steps away, though he wasn’t entirely sure who was helping who, at this point.

“Close your mouth and do as your told,” the guard captain pulled a key out of her pocket. “Back away from the door.”

They backed away.

In short order they were dragged out of the cell and patted down. The guards spent the most time on Zhenya, rifling through his pockets and coming up with his gun and boot knife, seeming to enjoy the pained sounds he made when they knocked his hand. Fairwind lost a small charm that he’d kept tucked under his shirt. Marcus hunched over the box and tried to look unthreatening. The guards didn’t care, shoving him around and pressing on his bruises and pulling the box free. He bit his tongue bloody as they pulled his hair and probed the bandages on his arms.

“What is this?” the tusked guard demanded, yanking Alex’s box free. He held it like he thought it was a bomb, seeming uninclined to open it up.

“A box,” Marcus said through gritted teeth.

The tusked guard beat him over the head with a baton, and Marcus crumpled to the ground, landing too hard on his aching arms so they buckled beneath him. Through the gray haze that spun around him and the roaring in his ears, he thought he heard Zhenya cry out.

He was dragged back to his feet. His body was heavy and unwieldy, and his vision seemed to throb in time to the beats of his heart and head. He swayed back and forth and worried he might fall. The box, where was the box? Where was the bone compass?

“You keep on like this, and you’ll be dead before morning,” the tusked guard informed Marcus from very far away.

“Stop playing,” the guard captain growled. “She’s waiting for us.”

Things went hazy for a while. Someone was dragging him, and it was all Marcus could do to stay upright. He didn’t manage to stay standing and his stomach rebelled when he tumbled down a flight (several flights?) of stairs they had just climbed. The vomiting helped the nausea, but the fall left him curled in a ball of pain and vertigo while the guard shrieked about his soiled uniform. Marcus blinked and tried to focus. There were red stains on his sleeves again, and his arms were aching, aching, a dull counterpoint to his head. Muzzily, he looked up to see the guard flailing out of his coat, arms akimbo, box, sword, and baton going everywhere.

The guard captain shouted, but Marcus focused on the wood box as it clattered down the stairs to land beside him. If Marcus could just get a little closer, he might—

He caught the strap and got the loop around his neck before any of the guards came to get him, letting the box dangle down his torso. It had Nicky’s charm in it, and he couldn’t lose it. Cariddha had said it was powerful, and Marcus had already given away too many of Nicke’s secrets.

Then Zhenya was there, tucking an arm around him again. Marcus hid his face in Zhenya’s shoulder and let Zhenya hold him. His arms came free, and Marcus wrapped himself around Zhenya and tried to hide the box a little better.

“Lean on me,” Zhenya said softly. “I’ve got you.”

Marcus squeezed his eyes tightly shut. “It would be nice if they’d stop hitting me over the head.”

“Yeah,” Zhenya breathed.

They must have cut Zhenya’s hands free, too, because when they started moving again, Zhenya was holding him up. It was easier this time, half carried by Zhenya and without the guard yelling and pushing. When Marcus looked out, he couldn’t see the tusked guard. The guard captain and the third guard were pacing the three prisoners with their swords and batons at the ready, and both looked furious. There was no sign that the tusked guard had been there at all.

“Where are we going?” Marcus asked. 

Zhenya clench his jaw, the muscles going tight in his neck and shoulder. He wasn’t wearing his coat, and he seemed vulnerable in his shirtsleeves and jeans. When had he lost his coat? Marcus couldn’t quite remember. His arm was around Zhenya’s waist, and he squeezed gently, offering what comfort he could.

Zhenya smiled, but it was an empty gesture, with all the tension in his eyes. “To meet the Queen, they say.”

“Shit,” Marcus whispered.

Zhenya held him tightly. “We’ll be okay.”

Marcus wanted to say, ‘ _she can’t be any worse than an angry dragon,_ ’ but the guard captain glared at them.

“If you can’t keep him quiet, I’ll do it for you,” she said. The lamplight seemed to dim against the bloodthirst in her eyes.

They walked. Marcus breathed through his nose, trying not to vomit again. He couldn’t focus enough to see where they were going. When he tried to memorize their turns, the information slipped through the cracks in his mind like water through a broken cup. It scared him, how scattered his thoughts were. He could only hold onto Zhenya and hope. He didn’t even know what to hope for. Survival, escape, leniency. Was Fairwind still here? Had he seen him?

If only his head would stop hurting.

“Kneel,” the guard captain hissed, and kicked Marcus’ knees out from under him.

He came back to himself sprawled on the ground, nose a bare inch from the stones. Hands were clutching at his head to keep it from striking the floor. Pain flared anew in his body, though probably not as much as another blow to the head would have caused. His arms and sleeves were wet. Blinking slowly, Marcus saw Zhenya half underneath him, and Fairwind bone white and prostrate beside them.

Marcus looked up. They were surrounded by fairies. A massive crowd stood in a semicircle around them, still dressed in their party finery and masks, all of them staring in obvious disdain. At the open end of the circle there was a set of shallow rainbow stairs that lead to a raised dais of opalescent white. A silver throne, as massive as it was delicate, was upon the dais, and a shadow sat upon the throne.

The shadow was a single figure, a fairy woman in a dark robe and a crown of twisted black. There were small, grinning skeletons set into the crown, tied together with ropy black strands that looked like twisted tree branches. Their hands were upraised and joined together to support the weight of a massive red jewel, the size of Marcus’s fist, over the top of her head. Smaller red gems dangled from the skeleton’s feet, like chains or drops of blood.

“You must be the Queen,” Zhenya said into the silence. He shited until he was sitting on the ground with Marcus beside him. His hand found Marcus’ and held it securely. It was all false bravado, but Marcus still breathed a little easier.

“Show some respect,” the guard captain snarled, but the Queen held up her hand.

“We are Her Royal Highness, Maharahan the Everburning Light, Queen Under the Hill, She Who Holds the Dark,” she stated, her voice the soft sound of autumn leaves falling. “Why are you here, in Our court, disrupting Our festivities, suborning Our servants, and fouling the air with your Human stench?” 

Marcus couldn’t even parse what they needed to reply to stay alive. There were too many words, too much venom, it was all poisoned barbs and undisguised bloodlust, not the opening for a fair trial. And of course, of course this judgement was going to be a farce. He’d already known that, hadn’t he? Nicke had delayed their escape, and now they were trapped. It was fitting, after Marcus had handed Nicke over to these monsters, that Nicke had cost them their chance to flee.

Marcus had nothing left to bargain for their lives but a bone compass, and he could not trade Nicke again, no matter how much he loved Zhenya, no matter if Nicke was already at the executioner’s door.

“We’re Nicky’s friends,” Zhenya said, his thumb stroking soothing circles across Marcus’ knuckles. “We’re here to take him home.”

“Who?” The Queen surveyed the court, and then focused on Fairwind. “That one? You came here for that one? He’s noth—”

“No,” Zhenya interrupted, and the entire room seemed to hold its breath, horrified. “I think you call him the Harvest King. Nicky.”

The Queen stared at them with cold green eyed, and then she began to laugh. After an uneasy pause, the rest of the gathered fairies followed suit, until they were ringed by obnoxious pointed laughter, the three of them battered on all sides. Fairwind seemed to shrink even further against the ridicule, as though he were trying to melt through the seams of the floor. Marcus grabbed his hand, as well, offering what comfort he could in lieu of a rescue.

Fairwind clung like it was a lifeline.

The Queen stopped laughing all at once, like a switch had flipped. Belatedly, the court quieted, as well.

“Our Harvest King?” The Queen said in silken tones. “Our _Harvest King_? You think you know our long lost King?” She cast a glance over the assembled fairies. “Lars, is there any truth in their lying mouths?”

Fairies shifted, and Nicke was revealed. If he had been the Nicke from Alex’s shop, he would have been uncomfortable under the sudden spotlight of everyone’s attention. As he was, his eyes were as flat and emotionless as the Queen’s, dressed is red velvet, with a crown that looked like weeping willows upon his head.

“No,” Nicke said.

Marcus couldn’t help the small, hurt sound he made.

The sound caught the Queen’s attention, and brought smug smile to her lips. “They do seem attached, for animals that you’ve never met. Did you perhaps feed them? Throw them a bone?”

“No,” Nicke repeated.

The Queen sighed theatrically. “A pity. You never entertain us anymore, Lars.”

The room shifted uneasily, as Lars just looked at the Queen with dead eyes.

“I’ll entertain you,” Zhenya said into the silence, and every ounce of attention in the room flew to him. He let go of Marcus’ hand, and Marcus was too shocked and slow to hold on. When he stood, the Fae Court took a step back. Zhenya was staring the Queen , and he didn’t flinch.

The Queen gestured at him with one pale hand. There were rings on her fingers that wound up to the tips of her nails like barbed vines. “What do you have to entertain Us?” Amusement dripped from her voice like rain through the underbrush.

Zhenya smiled his bright, laugh-with-me smile. “A bargain. If I win, all three of us, as well as Nicky, can return home to our city over the hill.”

“And if you lose?” The Queen asked when he paused, and Marcus felt his stomach drop. Zhenya couldn’t offer the compass. He wouldn’t.

Would he?

Zhenya’s smile turned wry, though it might have looked seductive to anyone who didn’t know him. “That’s why it’s a bargain,” he said cheerfully. “What would you want as forfeit?”

The sound Marcus made was unrecognizable, too soft to be fear, too horrified to be dismay. The Queen smiled wider when she heard it. Zhenya didn’t look at Marcus.

The Queen pursed her lips for a moment, “What We want,” she said, consideringly. She came close enough to touch Zhenya, but didn’t. Instead, her hand hovered in the air above his throat, as though she might strangle him at any moment. She ducked her head down to whisper in Zhenya’s ear.

Zhenya said, “That seems fair.” He finally met Marcus’ gaze again and winked. Marcus couldn’t scowl back, as fear had flooded his veins and turned his heart to ice.

“And the terms?” the Queen asked, a little laugh in her voice. She walked back toward her throne, and the dangling red jewels on her crown moaned with each step.

“I can make Nicky— the Harvest King—laugh, or cry,” Zhenya declared.

The Fairies started buzzing, surprise spreading in whispers across the crowd.

Fairwind gasped. “No! No, that’s not—” his mouth clamped shut and he whimpered when the Queen glared at him. “No,” he whispered, almost too quiet to hear. “ _Remember what I told you_.”

Nicke had crossed his arms, but he didn’t say anything, a silent pillar that a room was vibrating with nerves. He met the Queen’s eyes, but there still was nothing to give away his heart or mind. If he cared at all that Zhenya had made him a pawn in the game, he didn’t show it.

The Queen focused her attention back on Zhenya. “You have three attempts,” she said, the smile on her lips a blow. “Starting now.” She seated herself gracefully into her throne. The layers of her gown pooled at her feet like an oil slick on the rainbow ocean of the dais.

Nicke looked to the Queen. “Why?” His voice was flat and uninterested.

Zhenya dropped to his knees before Marcus. “You still have the compass?”

Marcus nodded. “Zhenya,” he murmured, grabbing Zhenya’s hands. He left bloody fingerprints on Zhenya’s skin and cuffs. “I—”

The Queen rolled her eyes. “Because I think it will be entertaining,” she told Nicke.

Zhenya kissed Marcus’ forehead. Marcus wrapped an arm around his neck and kissed him properly. “Zhenya,” Marcus pleaded.

Zhenya held him tight enough to steal the words from Marcus’ lips. “Find his heart!”

“How?” Marcus’s words were muffled, his face buried in the crook of Zhenya’s neck. His arms were tight around Zhenya, and if he could have run, he would have, no matter how much the world spun around him.

“Is that your first attempt?” the Queen demanded of them. “A strange strategy.”

Heartless.

“No, that was a kiss,” Zhenya explained.

Literally heartless? That was impossible, even fairies needed a heart to survive. A spell?

“It wasn’t entertaining,” the Queen announced.

Zhenya pulled away from Marcus, and for all that Marcus had wanted to run, the feel of him slipping out of his arms was stronger, harder, like his very bones might break under to strain of reaching to have Zhenya back. Zhenya’s smile flickered like a candle flame, and then he rose and turned back to the fairies.

“Fairwind,” Marcus dragged himself away from Zhenya to look down at Fairwind, still huddled on the floor. “Fairwind, how do you un-heartless someone?” Three tries before whatever Zhenya had promised was due. How was he supposed to do this?

“Maybe this will be,” Zhenya said, walking toward Nicke. “It’s better to laugh than to cry, eh? So we will a try a joke. Are you ready?”

The Queen said, “He’s fine.”

“It’s okay if you needs time,” Zhenya said to Nicke. “You can let me know when to start.”

“I don’t know!” Fairwind whispered back to Marcus. His eyes were huge and terrified, red from crying, with half-dried tear tracks on his cheeks. “I don’t know anything about magic! I’m just a servant!”

“I know,” Marcus said, “But unless we figure this out, we’re going to die here. So tell me, how to we get Nicke’s heart back?”

“You’re delaying,” the Queen accused.

“Of course I am,” Zhenya didn’t sound bothered by being called out. “You have to warm people up to get them to laugh, and I only get three tries, so I have to do it pretty good.”

Fairwind sat up, scrubbing his face. “I don’t know. It’s a spell. The usual ways to end spells are fulfill the conditions, true love, or make it fall apart somehow.”

Would those small crystals have worked on Nicke? Would they have forced the spell on him to fall apart? It was too late to find out. “Alex isn’t here,” Marcus said, even though Fairwind had no idea who Alex was. “Is Nicke’s heart physically missing? Could we find it?” Zhenya had said to use the compass.

“You are trying my patience,” the Queen warned.

“Okay, okay,” Zhenya sighed. “Nicky. There was this man in Bulgaria who drove trains for a living.”

Marcus almost choked, though he’d been trying not to get too distracted by Zhenya’s performance. Zhenya was going to try to make Nicke laugh with a joke about bananas? At least it had a long set-up. He still had no idea what to do.

“I don’t know!” Fairwind repeated.

Marcus took the wooden box out from his coat.

“He loved his job, thought it was the best job in the world. He loved driving trains fast, taking corners on one set of wheels, seeing how much speed he could coax down the stretch. But he was a little bit reckless. One day, he drove his train so fast it crashed, and someone died. But not the man who loved trains.” Zhenya pivoted around Nicke, drawing everyone’s attention with his as he smashed his fists together to pantomime the train crashing.

Marcus opened the box.

There was only one full compartment now, since the gifts Alex had given with it were gone. The jar of oil that had let them sneak in was mostly empty. The bone compass on it’s chain seemed brassy and dull compared to the glitter and glitz around them. Marcus wiped the blood on his hands off before he took the took the compass out, leaving red stains on his pants.

Zhenya continued to weave his story. “Well, of course the man went to trial, and because he wasn’t sorry at all that he had driven so fast, he was sentenced to death by electric chair. The day of his death comes, and he asks for one banana for his final meal. He eats it and it’s delicious. Then he is strapped to the electric chair and the executioner flip the switch. Sparks, smoke, and when everything clears up, the man is still alive and well!”

When Marcus opened the compass, the bloody lock of golden hair, Nicke’s hair, was still pressed to the top. He looked at the needle. It was spinning crazily as it oriented itself, like it was trying to find true north but could only bounce back and forth.

“What’s that?” Fairwind asked.

“Alex’s compass,” Marcus said, and hoped that they had guessed correctly, that it would actually lead to Nicke.

“Now, they have to let the man go, because in Bulgaria, it’s seen as divine intervention if something goes wrong with an execution. So this man who loves trains is free to go, and he applies right away for his old job, and they give it to him! They tell him not to drive so fast, but he’s already got the training and knows all their codes, so he’s the one they want. Well, the man who loves trains doesn’t listen and he drives super fast, and he crashes the train again! Only this time, he kills two people. They take him to trial again and it goes exactly the same as last time, except this time he asks for two bananas to eat before he is killed. But when they flip the switch on the electric chair, the sparks and smoke come back, and he doesn’t die.”

Marcus clutched the compass tight. “Come on, come on.”

“What’s it supposed to point to?” Fairwind asked.

“Hopefully, Nicke,” Marcus said.

“So they let the man go again, and he goes home and immediately applies for his old job. At first the company is all, ‘no we can’t hire you again,’ but no one else applies and they need someone to drive the trains, so they give in and hire the man who loves trains a third time and tell him he absolutely, positively, cannot, under any circumstances, drive the train fast. But the man doesn’t listen. He drives it so fast and causes such a big crash that this time, three people die.”

“He’s right there!” Fairwind hissed, gesturing at Nicke.

“That’s not Nicke,” Marcus said, with more confidence than he felt. It couldn’t be Nicke. It couldn’t be all of Nicke, at least, some core part of him had to be missing.

Fairwind opened his mouth to argue, but didn’t end up saying anything: the compass needle finally went still.

Marcus had been right, it didn’t point at Nicke. It pointed at the dais.

“So the man who loved trains went to trial _again_ , and he wasn’t sorry _again_ , so he was sentenced to death for the third time in the electric chair. This time, when he asked for three bananas, the executioner said, ‘No! I’m done, no more bananas, this is going to end now!’ And so even though they weren’t supposed to do it that way, the man who loved trains didn’t get his last meal, and instead went straight into the electric chair.”

Marcus looked at the rainbow dais and silver throne, and then at the compass. The needle was steady and pointed in one direction no matter how many ways Marcus turned the base. It was definitely pointing at the one spot in the room Marcus couldn’t go unnoticed.

Unless the last small bit of oil would be enough to get him through.

“The executioner flipped the switch. There was a spark! Smoke! When everything cleared, the man who loved trains was sitting in the chair, just as fine as he could be. The executioner couldn’t believe it.”

Marcus slipped the mostly empty jar of oil out of the wood box, and unstoppered it. He drew the strange palm tree with it’s four curving branches on his forehead.

Fairwind hissed, “What are you doing?”

“Shhh,” Marcus murmured, putting the jar down and getting to his feet.

All the blood rushed from his head, and the bruised and sore places on his skull screamed protest. Marcus’ vision grayed out as all the colors of the surrounding fairies, the rainbow dais, the blood on his hands, all of it melted together. His stomach churned, and he almost vomited up bile.

“The man who loved trains looked at the executioner, who was still staring at him, red with fury and dumb with shock. He said, “Oh, the bananas don’t do anything. I’m just a bad conductor.”

There were snorts and giggles from the fairies, but Nicke’s face didn’t flicker.

The Queen’s broad smile lit the ugliness in her eyes. “That’s one,” she said.

Zhenya shrugged. “Sometimes people don’t think bananas are funny,” he said. “Let’s try this. There was a man who needed to buy a new horse, so he went to the local stables and asked if they had any for sale. ‘We have one,’ the stablemaster said, ‘but he’s a little difficult. The only way to get him to stop is to scream _hey, hey!_ , and the only way to get him to go it to scream _thank God!_ ’”

Marcus bit the inside of his own cheek and tried to breath through the pain. He took a few steps forward, toward the dais. Fairwind stared for a long moment, then spun to look attentively at Zhenya. Marcus took a few more steps, and no one seemed to notice. He angled toward the closest edge of the dais, so he wouldn’t cut off the Queen’s view of Zhenya, and climbed the first step.

The compass twisted a little, and Marcus’ heart thudded in his chest, but it was still pointing in the direction he was going. Now that he was getting closer, he could get the angle a little better.

The compass was pointing at the Queen.

“That sounded ridiculous! The man said he’d like to take the horse for a test ride, but he really just wanted to see if the stablemaster was telling to truth. Sure enough, the horse wouldn’t start going until he screamed _thank God!_ , but the horse’s gait was like a dream. It was the best ride he’d ever had, smooth and even, and he took the horse a little farther from the stable than he meant to. As they galloped down the road, he suddenly realized they were coming up on a cliff!”

Marcus edged around the throne, hoping it was wrong, but there was no mistake: Alex’s compass was pointed at the Queen. He stared helplessly at her silver throne, her black robes, her skeleton wreathed crown. Fairwind snuck a questioning look over his shoulder, but Marcus could only shrug.

The Queen tipped her head to the side, and the lights caught the red gem the skeletons were holding out. Marcus was about to close his eyes and try to clear his thoughts against the tide of worry, when he took a second look at the gem.

It was dark red and irregular, clearly not a cut show piece. It seemed to pulse in time Zhenya’s stories, but Marcus had thought that was just his head injury.

In time with Zhenya’s stories, or in time with a heartbeat.

Fuck. Fairwind was right, Nicke was actually, literally heartless.

“The man was so terrified, he couldn’t remember how to stop the horse! He pulled on the reins and jabbed his heels, and shouted _stop, stop! Fuck!_ as the cliff edge grew closer and closer. At the very last moment he remembered to scream, _hey, hey!_ , and the horse skittered to a halt just centimeters from the cliff edge. The man was breathing heavily and shocked he was alive. He was so happy, though, that he screamed _thank God!_ ”

There were more laughs, this time, but Nicke’s face stayed stony. He looked down at Zhenya. “Are you almost done?”

“That’s two,” the Queen purred.

Marcus was out of time.

“Sometimes, you really just need to cry,” Zhenya said, as Marcus’s shaking fingers reached for the heart-jewel that crowned the Queen’s head.

It was warm, in his hand, and soft, though it looked like crystal, and the moment Marcus’ bloody fingers wrapped around it, the Queen stood up and whirled around. She moved so fast, she left the heart in Marcus’ hands. She shrieked in fury and confusion.

Marcus bolted for Zhenya. The Queen didn’t reach for him, didn’t even seem to see him, but the guard captain had her sword out. The crowd broke, and began to back away, their low murmurs turning into a dull roar as everyone spoke at once. Zhenya was grinning. The Queen was still screaming.

Nicke looked blank.

“Where is it? Who took it?” The Queen’s words were drowned out by the crowd.

As the guard captain pushed through the milling fairies to her side, Marcus shoved through to Zhenya and Nicke. The crowd was a wall against him, and the fairies cried out and yelled at each other for knocking into them as Marcus elbowed his way between them. When he looked up at Nicke, staring directly into those blank eyes, Nicke blinked twice, like Marcus had appeared out of a fog.

“Here he,” Nicke started to say, but Marcus was faster. He hadn’t been able think of anything else to do, so he shoved the red heart into Nicke’s chest. It touched Nicke and vanished. Marcus was left pressing his bloody hands against Nicke’s shirt. At first, there was no rhythm beneath his fingers, and then it started, steady and strong.

Nicke’s entire face twisted with confusion. “Mackan?”

“ _Where is the thief_?!” The Queen roared.

“I’m so sorry,” Marcus breathed. “Nicke, I’m so sorry, for this, for everything, for Alex.” His fingers felt numb, his entire body felt numb. “I’m sorry I told them where you were, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Nicke’s eyes were wide and horrified as he looked at Marcus, at Zhenya, at the Fae Court around them. “Mackan, what have you done? What’s wrong with Sasha?”

Bluntly, Zhenya said, “He’s in the hospital. They don’t think he’s going to survive.”

Nicke whipped his head around to stare at Zhenya.

“They broke his fingers and his arms when he tried crawling after you. The nurses had to cut a tube through his throat because it had collapsed. The police had no idea how he lost that much blood and was still breathing when we found him. He kept calling your name. They won’t know if the nerve damage is as bad as it looks until he wakes up, but since he probably won’t wake up, they won’t have to deal with telling him he’ll never walk again.” Zhenya was ruthless.

Nicke collapsed. By the time Zhenya had finished, he was weeping on the floor, his arms wrapped around himself. His gasping, wet breaths sounded far too similar to the sounds Alex had made when they found him. The cruelty of it was almost fae. Zhenya’s cool eyes didn’t seem to care.

The guilt crushed down on Marcus. He hadn’t known. He hadn’t wanted to know, so he hadn’t asked. Alex was dying, and this futile plan to try and save Nicke wouldn’t be any atonement.

“You!” The guard captain thundered, suddenly there and yanking Marcus away from Nicke and Zhenya. “What did you do?!” Marcus could only stare at her.

“We won,” Zhenya said, triumph warring with sorrow. He looked directly at the Queen, with Nicke sobbing at his feet and the crowd quieting around them. “I won.”

* * *

The Queen did not take his statement well. “I see,” she said, as a deathly quiet fell over the room. The guard captain’s fingers went limp with shock or fear or some fairy emotion Marcus couldn’t parse. If it was a warning, Marcus didn’t heed it.

Marcus yanked himself out of the guard captain’s loose grip and looked from Zhenya to Nicke. Zhenya was challenging the Queen. Nicke was destroyed. Marcus knelt down beside Nicke and put his his hand on Nicke’s shoulder. Nicke turned into Marcus’ arms like a child, and Marcus closed his own eyes against tears.

“I’m sorry,” Marcus kept whispering, petting Nicke’s curls and the fine velvet clothes he wore.

“Sasha,” was all Nicke could manage to say.

Fairwind was kicked into the middle of their little group by a different guard.

“That’s all of them,” the guard said, raising his sword at Fairwind. “What shall we do with them?”

The Queen smiled unkindly. “The bargain was clear. They will go.”

Marcus’ head shot up, scarcely able to believe it. Had they managed it? The surrounding fairies looked just as confused, a whispering chorus around them.

“My hounds will deliver their corpses to their precious city!” the Queen hissed, and her hand slashed down in a gesture that made Marcus’s entire body go cold.

From a distance, there was a howl. A second one answered back. Then another, and then another, and another.

Nicke looked up, tears still streaming down his face. “No,” he said. “Run!” He grabbed Marcus by the shoulders and yanked him to his feet. “Go!”

Marcus ran as best he could with his aching head and spotty vision. Someone grabbed his hand, and he almost pushed them away before he realized it was Zhenya trying to keep him steady. Behind them, he heard Fairwind stutter out a protest as Nicke shoved him ahead.

The crowd parted to let them through. Fairies flattened themselves to the walls, trying to keep clear. Fear fell over them like a fog. Marcus didn’t know what was coming, but it was going to be bad.

“We have a door to the dragon caves! Near the ruby chandelier of a maple tree!” Zhenya yelled, throwing open the first door they came across. “Nicky, do you know how to get there?”

“I do!” Fairwind gasped, taking the lead.

They ran.

No matter how fast they ran, though, the baying of the hounds came closer, faster. They raced down corridors and through heavy doors and still the hounds came. The frenzied scratch of claws on wood grew louder. Marcus stumbled and Zhenya swore, starting to pivot to grab him until Nicke scooped Marcus into his arms like an infant. Without Marcus’ faltering steps, they went a little faster.

They ran.

Fairwind took them through servants quarters and down rickety staircases. The gleeful skeletons on the walls seemed to grin and point mockingly behind them, at the encroaching horde. Marcus finally squeezed his eyes shut so he’d stop seeing the nauseating swirl of colors and shadows.

They ran.

Nicke carried Marcus easily, and Marcus had the unsettling feeling that he could go even faster without them. But Fairwind knew the way, and they were all bound to his speed. Marcus couldn’t tell if the gulping, heavy breaths were from him, or from Zhenya. He risked opening his eyes to make sure all four of them were still together. He saw Zhenya, red faced and panting for breath before he had to close them again.

Someone banged into something. “Its locked!” Fairwind cried. “I thought you said someone was holding it open?!”

Marcus looked.

They were standing in a large foyer with two spiraling staircases, tapestries on the walls and a ruby chandelier over head. They were back where they had arrived. The black doors were closed. Fairwind was pulling desperately at the intricate handle, but nothing he did worked.

Nicke put Marcus down and ran to the door.

Marcus’s stomach was sour and he was out of breath even though Nicke had done all the running. He demanded, “How long has it been?” 

“No, no, no,” Fairwind said, as Nicke struggled with the lock.

The sound of the hounds was almost upon them.

Marcus looked for Zhenya, and found him at his side. “Zhenya. Zhenya, I’m sorry I,” he said, and then gave up and kissed Zhenya again, because if they were going to die, then there was nothing left to run away from.

If they were going to be torn apart, they’d have to work for it.

Zhenya kissed him back without hesitation and without sorrow. He tasted like stale coffee and himself, he held onto Marcus like even the hounds of a fairy queen couldn’t make him let go. Marcus couldn’t stop himself from crying, shuddering with sobs in Zhenya’s arms. This was going to have to be enough.

“No,” Fairwind whispered.

The sound of claws on the floor broke through the room. Marcus refused to look, wrapping himself in Zhenya and trying to memorize, in the short time they had left, the pressure of Zhenya’s fingers on his waist, the way Zhenya bit Marcus’ bottom lip, every good thing left to him in this moment.

Something snarled from the hallway they had come through.

“Well, well, well, they brought me a snack,” Cariddha’s voice broke through Marcus’ fever, followed by a rush of heat and the bone-shaking roar of an adult dragon.

Marcus opened his eyes. He saw Zhenya first, staring shocked and shaken back at him. There was an irrational part of Marcus that wanted to say something, ‘I love you,’ or ‘I’m sorry,’ or ‘why aren’t we dead?’ Instead he turned around. Zhenya didn’t let him go, keeping his arms wrapped around Marcus’ waist even as they both took in the carnage.

Cariddha was hovering overhead, her long neck twisting as she leaned down to breathe fire into the hallway they had so recently fled through. Her massive wingspan was somehow both too big for the room entirely, and perfectly proportioned to hover above them all, a dizzying display of magic and power.

On her back was Alex.

Alex, alive and well. Alex, carrying a thin white stick that he swung out when Cariddha paused for breath, raining shards of ice like javelins down on the burned remains of the attacking hounds. They screamed as they fled from the dragon and the witch, until finally the hallway was empty of life, and things fell quiet.

“Sasha!” Nicke shattered the silence and leaped into the air. A large ginger tabby cat climbed Cariddha’s side, tiny claws fitting between her scales as he scrambled up to Alex. Alex caught the cat, who immediately turned back into Nicke.

“Sasha, you’re alright,” Nicke said, wonder and pain in his voice, before kissing Alex breathless.

Marcus twisted to look at Zhenya. “He’s okay! You said that— he was―”

“He looks much better,” Zhenya said, a faint hint of relief in his voice. 

“Of course he does, it’s been a month.” Cariddha harrumphed as she settled on the ground. She flapped both wings irritably, and then tucked them away. “You two get down. Stupid cats.”

“They told me you were dying,” Nicky said, glaring accusingly at Zhenya before scooping Alex up and hopping lightly to the ground. “Sasha.” He set Alex down and looked him over, running his hands over his limbs like he was making sure they were all there.

“It was a little touch and go, they tell me,” Alex shrugged. He cupped Nicke’s face in his hands. “I’m alright now, I promise.”

Marcus put his head on Zhenya’s shoulder. “Did you lie so Nicke would cry and win that bet?”

“Of course not,” Zhenya said, tucking his head against Marcus’. “And if I did stretch the truth a little, which I did not, then it was your life or a few tears.”

“Zhenya,” Marcus said, unsure if he was scolding or thankful. Maybe both. “Zhenya, you do know, right? You’re a detective, so you know that, that….” his voice trailed off. Zhenya looked like he wanted to kiss him again.

“Very romantic,” Cariddha drawled. “But we are still on the wrong side of that door. And who are you?” She frowned at Fairwind.

“Fairwind,” Fairwind said, staring at her with something like awe.

“Not true, but it’ll do for the moment. The _door_ , witch.” Cariddha swung her head around and nosed Alex in the shoulder.

“Oh, right,” Alex said, and turned to get the door.

As Alex turned the knob and tugged, Marcus looked back at the smoking, damp remains of the hall behind them. He didn’t know what he expected: the hounds to be back, a mob of fairies to try to stop them, the guard captain and her sword. What he saw was worse than all of that: the fairy Queen, watching them leave.

He must have made a sound, because Nicke followed his gaze.

“Hari,” Nicke said, the name slipping out like a secret from his lips.

Their group froze. Alex, holding the door half open, became grim, and he took the white rod from a loop on his belt. Cariddha snatched up Fairwind in one talon, her extended wings making her look suddenly bigger. Marcus pushed Zhenya closer to the door, ready to dive through if needed.

“Lars,” the fairy Queen said. “So you’re leaving, again?” She seemed smaller, off her throne. Her crown was gone, and her hair fell in a flat crimson sheet down her back.

“Of course,” Nicke said. His eyes narrowed. “You took my _heart_ , Hari.”

The Queen’s face turned fierce, even desperate. “We _need_ you, Lars! The Court is dying, the summers fade more every year, there hasn’t been a new birth in decades!”

Nicke gestured at Fairwind, hidden by Cariddha’s bulk. “And so now you steal children. If the Courts finds out about this, they will cast you out. No one wants another war.”

“We need to survive!” the Queen shot back. “We had no choice!”

Nicke turned his back on her. “There are always choices. I’m choosing to live. Maybe if you stop choosing death, some of your own problems will disappear.” He put his hand over Alex’s, and pulled the door all the way open. “Goodbye, Hari. I hope to never see you again.” He and Alex stepped over the threshold, vanishing into the brilliant light.

The Queen stared after him. Marcus held tight to Zhenya as they both inched closer to the door.

“Just go,” the Queen finally said, so quietly he could barely hear her. “You’ve won your freedom. Perhaps we have only won our own graves.” She turned away and slumped against the wall.

Marcus almost felt sorry for her, standing alone amid the ruins of her hall, but he wasn’t going to stay. Zhenya seemed to feel the same way, as he tugged Marcus back and guided them both over the threshold.

It was worse, this time, possibly because of the head injury, or maybe just because he was exhausted. Marcus blacked out entirely and came to consciousness for the second time in less than a day with Zhenya hovering over him. His fingers were shaking, but he reached up to touch Zhenya’s face anyway. He left bloody prints on Zhenya’s cheek.

“You okay?” Zhenya asked.

“Ugh,” Marcus managed. Zhenya helped him sit up.

They were in the dragon caves, lying on warm sand. Nicke’s cat form was wrapped around Alex’s shoulder like a fur stole. Cariddha was lying on her belly, talking to Fairwind about his name and how long he’d been Underhill. They were all alive.

“I’ve always been there, I’m a changeling,” Fairwind said, frowning. “And what do you mean, it’s not my name? What else would it be?”

“What your mother calls you. I’d imagine,” Cariddha said tartly. “You do realize there’s a fairy out there living your life? That’s what a changeling is?”

Fairwind paled.

“That’s what I thought,” Cariddha sighed. “Well, those two do seem to be good detectives, even if they need too much rescuing. You should talk to them about it.”

Fairwind stared at Zhenya and Marcus for a long moment. “I, I don’t know. I never thought about it.” He sounded shocked, but also wistful, his eyes wide and mouth soft.

“Then think about it,” Zhenya said, putting an arm around Marcus’ shoulder so he could tuck neatly into his side. “But she’s right, we will help you. You did get us out of there in the end.”

Fairwind blushed and looked away.

A changeling, brought Underhill as an infant and and forced to survive in a Fairy Court. There weren’t supposed to be any more changelings. Nicke was right about the potential fallout in the Courts. Given everything that had happened, Marcus supposed it would be up to Fairwind to decide what he wanted to do about it, if he wanted justice.

Alex was mixing something over a small fire he’d built. When he noticed Marcus sitting up, he frowned. “Stay there. I’ll fix you up fast, so don’t go moving and giving yourself a stroke before the potion is done.” He didn’t seem angry, but maybe he didn’t know what Marcus had done. Marcus was going to have to tell him, eventually. Not now. He couldn’t relive it, not yet.

“How did you even come to rescue us?” Zhenya asked, looking between Cariddha and Alex. He rubbed gently between Marcus’ shoulders. “It was good timing.”

Cariddha grunted. “That one,” she nodded at Alex. “He came through demanding to know what I’d done to you. Really, I thought you were dead, when you missed your deadline, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer and then Ethuria found out.” She sounded disgruntled. “Once she got involved, it was either go after you myself or never hear the end of it.”

Marcus leaned into Zhenya’s side. “Thank you,” he said softly.

“You were a bonus,” Alex said bluntly, reaching up to scratch between the cat’s ears. Nicke chirped at him, put out, and Alex shook his head ruefully. “Walking into Fairyland. Stop doing dumb things and just sit there until I’m done, all three of you.” His eyes met Marcus’ for the first time, and Marcus felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Alex had never looked as old as he did in that moment, like he’d seen the entire world and it had broken his heart. “Sit,” Alex repeated again, going back to his stirring.

Marcus obeyed, relaxing against Zhenya and trying to settle himself. He didn’t want to move, no matter what Alex thought. The world was spinning, Zhenya was warm and solid, Nicke was here, Alex was taking charge, and they had survived. It had to be the head injuries that made the tears well in his eyes. He turned his face into Zhenya’s shoulder so no one would see.

“Now, now, it’s okay, we are all okay,” Zhenya sounded panicked as he held Marcus tighter. “Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know,” Marcus said, a little wetly. “I don’t know, I’m just so relieved. I can’t believe that worked. I can’t believe you did it. I can’t believe we’re all safe.” He shuddered, his fingers tangling in Zhenya’s shirt.

“We did it,” Zhenya corrected, petting softly down Marcus’ spine. “Together. You found Nicky’s heart! I was very scared, standing up with all those people, but I knew you’d find the answer.”

Marcus couldn’t help but give a small laugh. “You didn’t seem very scared. You seemed like you knew what you were doing. How did you know? About the heart? That I could even find it?”

“I picked long jokes,” Zhenya said. “So you would have the time. And even if I was wrong, it didn’t matter, I knew you would figure something out.”

“Zhenya,” Marcus said, because _how could he know_ , when Marcus had been ill and dizzy and frightened and desperate.

“ _I knew_ ” Zhenya said fiercely. “You’ve never let me down. I just had to wait.”

He wasn’t just talking about Nicke’s heart, Marcus realized. It was humbling, that Zhenya had such faith in him, and aggravating, that Zhenya was so cocky, to think he knew Marcus better than Marcus knew himself. Maybe he did, but he didn’t have to be so happy about it.

“Why the face?” Zhenya asked.

“You’re going to be insufferable for weeks,” Marcus told him. He kissed the corner of Zhenya’s jaw.

Zhenya pulled back, and Marcus flinched. His eyes met Zhenya’s and more tears— could he just stop crying, for a moment, dammit— spilled down his cheeks, his chin, his trembling lips. Why was Zhenya moving away from him?

“Wait, no,” Zhenya said, his own eyes wide and tender. “Your head. You know how I feel, Mackan, but not now. When your head it all better, I’ll do whatever you ask me to do, I swear.”

Marcus buried his head in Zhenya’s chest again. He wanted to say that nothing that had happened tonight was because of the head injury, but in spite of it. He wanted to kiss Zhenya until the throbbing of his pulse was because of the feel of Zhenya’s lips, the taste of his tongue. He wanted to sleep for a thousand years, but only if Zhenya was going to be there when he woke up. “Promise not to let me go,” he whispered.

“Never,” Zhenya swore, curled around Marcus like a shield, or a blanket, or a lover. “If that’s what you want, you’ll be stuck with me forever.”

* * *

Marcus clicked send on the email, and put his head in his hands. He felt shaky with adrenaline, shocky with nerves, and a little proud at what he’d started. It had been years since he’d left university, but maybe it was time to think about finishing his degree. He’d been running for a long time. He could at least see what he would need to do. 

“Good job!” Zhenya cheered, grinning at him from where he sat on top of Marcus’ desk in the office. He bent forward and smacked a kiss onto Marcus’ cheek. “Now we can go eat?”

“Yeah,” Marcus said slowly. He locked his computer and shook his head. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Zhenya said, and hopped off the desk. “We should go to dinner, too, since the final Eller check cleared this morning.” It always got a little busier after the new year, when people wanted to make fresh starts or find old friends. For at least a couple weeks, they weren’t going to have to worry about the water bill.

“We could do that,” Marcus mused, picking up his coat. 

The front door jerked back and forth, and Fairwind finally poked his head in after winning the fight with the latch. “Is this a bad time?” he asked, looking at Marcus’ coat. “I can come back later.”

“No, this is good,” Zhenya said. “Come in, sit down!” He shot an apologetic look at Marcus before rushing into his office. Marcus didn’t mind waiting a few minutes. Heading out together for lunch was much better than sitting at his desk waiting for Zhenya to return, or rushing through a fast food window. There had been some things he’d worried about changing, after they’d returned from Underhill, but so far, most of them— including being able to take lunch together— were improvements in his life.

“Hi, Marcus,” Fairwind said, smiling. His nose was pink from the cold, and his scarf dangled uselessly from one shoulder. Nicke would scold him if he could see, no matter how many time Fairwind said the winters Underhill had been much harsher than in the city. Nicke knew that, but fussed anyway.

“Come on,” Marcus said, smiling back. “Like I said in the message, we found something.” He led Fairwind into Zhenya’s office.

Fairwind leaned over the desk, where Zhenya had the contents of a manilla folder spread out. “Oh,” he breathed, looking down at a MISSING poster with his own face. “That’s me.”

“We think when you came back to the city, it broke the connection that let the fairy pretend to be you,” Zhenya said gently. “It’s a little unusual for a changeling to grow up, from what Nicke has said. Mostly the fairy grows bored and heads back to Underhill, but this was a special case.” Marcus wasn’t sure of the details, and he didn’t know if they would ever know the full story, but the fairy Queen had been using Fairwind’s mortality to stave off some of the effects of the winter on Underhill. It was a temporary solution, but the Queen had seemed to like those.

Fairwind didn’t look like he was listening. “Chris-tian Djoo-s,” he said, then repeated it twice. “Christian. That’s my name.” He didn’t sound like he was questioning it, but like he was claiming it. Fairwind, or, well, Christian, didn’t usually second guess himself. Once he’d decided to look into his past, he’d invested fully.

None of them knew if Christian’s family was aware of the switch, or if they would accept him as their son, but Christian hadn’t wanted to keep the name he’d been given Underhill. Zhenya had commented to Marcus that ‘Christian’ seemed like it would suit him when they’d put the file together, and seeing the way he took to it now, Marcus had to agree.

“Christian Djoos,” Zhenya said softly.

“Can I take this back to Nicke and Sasha?” Christian asked, peeling his eyes away from the poster.

“Of course,” Zhenya said. “Do you want us to go over what we found?”

“No,” Christian said, piling the papers into the folder. “I need a couple days, I think. But thank you. If I have any questions, I can call, right?”

“Of course,” Marcus said.

Christian managed a slightly shell-shocked smile. “Then I’m gonna take this home. Sorry for interrupting!” He swept the folder up and all but ran out of the room.

“I’ll call Sasha, let him know he’s coming,” Zhenya said, as soon as the office door closed.

“Good,” Marcus said, reaching out and taking Zhenya’s hand. “Do you think he’ll want to meet them? His family?”

Zhenya shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he will want to wait a little while, finish getting settled. Maybe his name is enough. Nicky will make sure he does what he wants, not what he thinks he should want.”

Nicke and Alex had brought Christian home with them, that first night, and Christian hadn’t spent more than a night away from since. All three of them seemed pleased by the arrangement, and it led Marcus to wonder if Alex and Nicke had wanted a family before all this, or if Christian just got lucky. Now that he had the file, he was going to have some choices to make.

“Lunch?” Marcus asked, swinging their locked fingers.

“Let’s,” Zhenya said. He kissed Marcus’ knuckles before slipping free to run and get his coat.

Marcus picked a package up from his desk drawer before he joined Zhenya by the door. “Just, one second. I got you something.” He handed over the paper-wrapped parcel.

Zhenya blinked. “It’s past Christmas,” he said, pulling curiously at the string holding it together. “What is it?” He didn’t wait long enough for Marcus to answer, and tore everything apart to reveal a hat.

A black fedora, to be exact, made of wool, with a dark gray ribbon around the the brim.

“A hat!” Zhenya said, astonishment written in the ‘o’ of his mouth.

“I’m sorry we lost your old one,” Marcus said, taking the hat and settling it on Zhenya’s head. It fit perfectly, not sliding down over Zhenya's eyes.

“I’m not,” Zhenya said, and grinned down at Marcus. “How does it look? Aces, right?”

Marcus pretended to think about it. Zhenya pouted, his exaggerated frown almost a grin. The hat couldn’t shadowed his eyes enough to keep Marcus from seeing how bright they were. It looked good, which Marcus hadn’t been expecting, a little jaunty, which he had, and very Zhenya.

“I like it,” Marcus finally conceded, tipping the brim back a little more so he could press a kiss to Zhenya’s lips. “I like you,” he said, when they were close enough for their breath to mingle.

Zhenya put his arms around Marcus. “I like you, too,” he whispered, kissing Marcus again.

“Can we go to lunch now?” Marcus asked.

Zhenya finally burst out laughing. “Yes,” he said, taking Marcus’ hand while Marcus smirked. “Let’s go together.”

* * *

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. THE WASHINGTON CAPITALS ARE THE 2018 STANLEY CUP CHAMPIONS!


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